


Comfortably Numb

by Aonashe



Series: Feel Good Inc. [1]
Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Depression, Drug Use, Dystopia, Gen, Hallucinations, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-War, Psychosis, Schizophrenia, Suicide, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aonashe/pseuds/Aonashe
Summary: A constable realizes that Joy may not be all it seems to be. Abandoning the drug, he goes on the difficult journey of recovering his destroyed memory and escaping the hell that is Wellington Wells. Along the way, of course, he encounters brutal reminders and shadows of his past. Who knows if he will leave all in one piece?Events take place one year before We Happy Few.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Huge trigger warnings for this fic! If you are at all sensitive to abuse, rape, psychosis, hallucinations, etc, you may want to click off this one. Thanks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn beforehand, the prologue and first chapter were written two years ago. So once you get past those parts, there's a dramatic change in writing style. I'll go back and edit them as well as the rest when the first drafts are done ^^.

Inhale. Exhale. The sounds of the Constable’s breathing magnified inside his gas mask. The fog wasn’t particularly nasty this night, but it still warranted wearing a gas mask. The fog always came at night, after all. Although, this didn’t stop him from having a joyful grin underneath his gas mask. There was nothing to be sad about in Wellington Wells, so why hold a frown? And besides, his mask, like most others that wore it, shaped his face into a smile. And when you’re smiling, you can’t help but be happy. 

Even though the lenses on his gas mask were murky, he could still see that it was quite a beautiful night out. Especially through the happy aura he obtained through his joy pill, nothing could ruin this night at all. Even if a Downer happened to appear right here, it still wouldn’t stop him from being gleeful of this night. He would have no problem with giving a Downer what they deserved either way, as it was their own fault for not taking their joy. 

Although, he wasn’t just standing around past curfew for no reason, that would be preposterous. As he was a constable, he was allowed to go out past curfew, the police force has to protect Wellington Wells against Downers at night too, after all. Instead of what he normally did, which was patrolling the streets, he decided to guard the joy detector gate. 

There are a few Joy detector gates sprinkled across the city, not just this one. This particular one guarded a place that was mostly restricted to Constables only, however. Even a perfectly normal citizen would look suspicious surpassing through the detector gate. Although, if you were part of maintenance, there would be no issue with you surpassing the gate. Normally, if a Wellie was standing around near this area, they’d just be shooed away. But if they were a Downer...that would be a completely different story. 

The Constable crossed his arms and gripped at the dark blue fabric of his uniform as he shivered at a thought he got. What if some of the Wellies who pass through the Downer Detectors and Joy gates are Downers only taking Joy just to get through the gates to try and get out of the city? No, that’s insane. Downers  _ don’t _ take Joy, that’s obvious. And even so, they couldn’t resist the happiness of the pill when they take it anyways. They’d just end up getting themselves addicted to it! He seriously couldn’t understand Downers. Why even resist the happiness the pills give you? It’s better to forget and never feel down than to wallow in bad memories. 

As though it was right on cue, the Constable started to feel his joy start to wear off. He got that horrible headache that always followed a crash and the night around him started to warp and drain of color. Even through the lenses of his gas mask, he could still see the world around him start to distort and fade, taking away all the beauty from the night. He started to get that awful feeling that maybe it actually wasn’t a lovely night at all and that life was maybe not as great as it appeared. And it felt cold...so cold. He needed more joy and he needed it fast, before the memories started to roll in. 

With haste, the Constable dug around in his pockets to try and find his prescription bottle. Not even a moment later, he found it and almost ripped off the cap. He took out one of the light pink capsules from the bottle. Just the feel of the pill against his gloves made him feel much better. Since he couldn’t really pop in the pill while wearing his gas mask, he took a deep breath and held it as he temporarily took it off. Without even a second thought, he popped in the pill and uncrossed his arms. Almost immediately the pill took effect and the night returned to normal. The night air seemed as warm and joyful as it was before, the aura of happiness immediately surrounding him again. The night sky resumed its beautiful blackish purple hue and he once again felt content that life was just as pleasant and gleeful as before.  _ “When life annoys, pop a Joy."  _ He thought to himself with a smile as the glee in his icy blue eyes lit up even more. And with that, he readjusted the gas mask over his face. 

Although, it didn’t take long for something suspicious and quite frankly annoying to start happening this night. Someone, who he presumed at first was a Wellie past curfew, started strolling up to the gate. The person was a woman who looked in her mid twenties with sandy blonde hair, a yellow dress with white lining, and black boots. Though she looked like a typical Wellie, he still stiffened his posture just in case this person was a Downer. If this was a Wellie past curfew, he would gladly and firmly shoo them away and send them back to where they’re supposed to be. Although, the more the person came into view, the more she looked less like a Wellie. She was exhibiting the typical behavior of a Downer. She had that far away glazed stare and a saddened, but oddly determined, posture. Definitely not someone on Joy. But, he couldn’t exactly be sure. It might have been a Wellie on a crash from her joy wearing off. 

“Oi, you there! Move along!” He called out to her in a venomous, firm tone. He was notorious for that tone, as in active situations, he usually turned quite venomous and unforgiving. He didn’t have the alias “Venom” for no reason. 

The suspected Downer stopped just a few feet from the joy gate, eyeing up the trap controls box rather suspiciously. That was enough to set it off for the Constable, so he immediately rested a hand on his baton, the venom intensifying in his eyes as he called out to her more briskly. “If you will  _ kindly _ stop that, I promise I won’t smash your face in!” 

The now confirmed Downer looked from him, the controls box, and to the orange glow of the gate, her long blonde hair draping in front of her eyes. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she brought her fist back as if she was going to try and knock him out, and at that exact same time, he started towards her with his hand gripping his baton. It seemed to have happened so fast, she lunged towards him with intentions to knock him out, but just before she could reach him, he immediately grabbed a hold of her wrist and locked it in an iron grasp before she could even hook him. 

She immediately started thrashing and clawing at him in his grasp, yelling and shrieking at him to let her go. While she was whirling and thrashing around, he drew his baton from his holster and readied to strike her with it. But, just as he did that, he caught a glimpse of her face. He automatically froze. His joints locked together and he couldn’t even bring himself to strike her. Her face, her eyes, her  _ voice _ ...it’s all so familiar and bringing back forbidden memories. The pain and the simple memories of this familiarity was enough to rip right through the aura of forgetfulness and glee that the joy provided for him. The world seemed to warp and distort again as a cold and anguished aura seemed to envelop him. 

Finally, he seemed to realize what was causing this. This woman looked exactly like  _ her.  _ She looked exactly like  _ Charlotte _ . His memories screamed at him over and over again as it all came flooding back, the sounds of her screams enveloped his every thought and obliterated the traces of joy in his system. He was quite rooted to the spot from this sudden overwhelming surge of memories that his vigorous joy indulgence had stowed away in the back of his mind for what seemed like centuries. He tried and tried again to strike her, but he just couldn’t do it. The Downer looked so much like her that he couldn’t bare to strike her. His overwhelming memories and anguish had a choke-hold on him. 

But the thing that caught him the most were the Downer’s eyes . They bore into his soul and intensified the memories. They look exactly like  _ hers _ ...so very piercing blue. Just like how she looked when he had to take her away. The Constable started to hyperventilate, the sounds of his rapid breathing magnifying in his gas mask as he tried desperately to avert his eyes from hers. Involuntarily, his grip started to loosen and his hands started to shake, rendering him completely vulnerable. 

The Downer immediately noticed this and ripped her hand from his grasp. She didn’t hesitate one bit and she immediately whirled around and dashed off into the fog, possibly to be seen by other Constables and apprehended. Possibly killed. The Constable watched her run with a bewildered look, his eyes filled with fear and sorrow. The memories still enveloped him, as they were too strong to even fight back. It was because of  _ joy _ that he had to take her away. That he had to send Charlotte away as an official Downer. All at once, he started to question why he was even taking his pills at all and why he was even doing this knowing fully that this took her away. 

All at once, a sound he had repressed for years came to him. A train whistle and a little boy's screams of anguish as he was dragged on board by men in polished uniforms. _"Lee!" _ His mind screamed. 

He immediately grabbed his pill bottle again and ripped off the cap, the distorted world around and the shrieking whistle him giving him an intense headache. He needed to pop it in before he broke down. The anguished Constable took out one of the light pink pills again, but this time, he hesitated. For the first time in his life, he hesitated on taking his Joy. He turned the pill over in his gloved hand, looking down at it with reluctance. This was the pill that had gotten his sister taken away from him. Was he seriously going to go back to being a coward and take his Joy? Forgetting everything he just remembered? Forgetting his brother and sister?

After what seemed like years of looking at the pill with regret, he closed his hand over the pill firmly and chucked it into a nearby alley near the Joy gate, the pill not even making a sound as it disappeared into the alley. He decided that he wasn’t going to succumb to Joy anymore and that he was not going to let it control his life anymore. He wasn’t going to let Wellington Wells corrupt him into thinking that Downers are the scum of the Earth and that they need to be purged when they haven’t even done anything wrong. When they were innocent. He knew this now. He had to do it for his family, no matter if they are alive or not. Of course, this would be a long and painful process, as he was so addicted to the pill anyways. His body at the moment was screaming for him to take the pills, as his body was so accustomed to taking the pill that he couldn’t physically go on without it. But he would ingrain it in himself to never take it again. His conscious knew it now even if his body didn’t. Although...he didn’t know how long he could make it. As he had been taking Joy for years, he knew that it wouldn’t be this easy to break himself out of the prison he put himself in. But he would try. He would be the Constable that realized that what he was doing was wrong and that remembering is better than forgetting. 

Although, he also knew that he could never let himself get caught. It would be overwhelmingly difficult, as Joy withdraw would probably be an excruciating experience, especially since he’d been taking it for as long as he could remember. He could never let himself be branded as a Downer. As a Constable himself, he knew what happened to Downers. He knew more than the average Wellie. And he knew that he would never survive what they were put through. By doing this, he was putting his life on the line, but he wouldn’t slink back to the comforts of Joy anymore. He would bite the bullet.

And with that new found determination, he made the biggest decision of his life so far. He grabbed his prescription bottle and chucked it into the darkness, hearing it clatter on the ground with all the pills inside scattering all over. As soon as he did that, he immediately felt the rush to take his joy, to forget. His hands started shaking and an overwhelming wave of anguish crashed over him. But, he clenched his fists and forced himself to stand upright, making his posture look as professional as possible. The Constable crossed his arms and gripped at the fabric of his uniform, an unbearable cold haze striking him from the absence of Joy. But, he forced himself to keep his head up, as he wouldn’t want to show any signs of being a Downer. Although in a weird way, it didn’t sit quite right with him that he was now a  _ Downer _ . The very thing he had been fighting, he became. All in one night. 

With a melancholy, but determined gaze, he looked up at the sky. It wasn’t beautiful. It was grey and lifeless, much like Wellington Wells. While looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel scared for the first time in a very long time. Now his life was completely unclear to him for the first time in his life. 


	2. All the Happy People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn beforehand, the prologue and first chapter were written two years ago. So once you get past those parts, there's a dramatic change in writing style. I'll go back and edit them as well as the rest when the first drafts are done ^^.

It has been about a couple weeks since those events took place. A couple weeks since he stopped taking his Joy and put his life on the line. Was it worth it? He didn’t really know. 

Joy withdrawal has proved itself to him to be even worse than what he had initially thought. He was constantly shivering and shaking, although he kept telling himself that it was going to be okay. Even though it has been a couple weeks since he made that decision, he still hadn’t been able to convince his body that Joy was destroying him. Apparently, he always had an endless supply of vomit stored, as it seemed to him that at least every hour of the day he was vomiting everything he ate into a trashcan. But, the worst part of it to him was the constant feeling of emptiness in him. It seemed to him as though everything has lost its pleasantness and was just grey. He could barely even remember what events happened since he dumped Joy, it all just became a blur of constant misery and loneliness. 

Although, he couldn’t just walk around like that, especially as a Constable. He couldn’t no matter how bad it was. He had to constantly pretend that he was fine and dandy, like nothing was going bad for him at all. If he dropped his smile for even a few seconds, people would instantly suspect him for being a Downer. Now he knew exactly how Downers in hiding felt. For most of his time as a constable, he lived it not even understanding Downers. He thought that they were insane for not taking their Joy and that they’d just make everyone feel bad, just because they were too busy wallowing in their own memories to take it. 

But now he was one of them. He had come to realize that maybe the Downers weren’t the insane ones. Maybe it was the Wellies that were the irrational ones.  For a large chunk of his memories of the present, he went through it proud to be a part of this irrationality. He was  _ proud _ to wear the Constable’s uniform and to protect his city. He was  _ proud _ to kill and isolate Downers from the world, basically leaving them to die in the toxin-filled Garden District. But now that he had seen reality for what it was, he felt ashamed to wear the uniform that he wears to this day. Knowing that even though he eradicated his life of Joy, he was still participating in the cruelness that society showed to Downers. He wanted so badly to just pack up and leave the city, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible. No one leaves the city. And if anyone tried, they would never live to tell the tale. Either way, there was nowhere he could go where he would escape the clutches of the happy pills. Unless he forced himself past the Parade District, but even he knew that would be a far and desperate stretch. 

At this time, it was midday. To him, it seemed a dreary and cloudy day, a world filled with imperfections. But to everyone else, it probably seemed just delightful to them. Rainbows lining the streets, a double rainbow in the sky, and just the most beautiful cotton candy sky you could imagine. He would know, since that’s how he saw the world of Wellington Wells in the drug-like coma that he was in. 

Another thing that happened to him after he stopped taking Joy was that he started to be more cautious of who he talked to, but never to the point where he would isolate himself away from everyone else. Because if he did that, that would be an obvious sign that he was a Downer. 

As he thought about his recent change in personality, he couldn’t help but look down at himself. He wore the uniform he always wore, although he was ashamed to still own the thing. Then he looked at the brass tag that was pinned to it. It read  _ Oliver I. Bondarev _ . That was his name although, he felt like that was an entirely different person. 

Around the same time as he got this thought, he started to feel a few cold shivers run up his spine along with a fearsomly intense headache. This always came with his withdrawal, and they would always happen at random. Oliver absolutely hated when it happened while he was out on the streets. Though it was excruciating, he crossed his arms and gripped at the dark blue fabric of his uniform as he forced a smile to remain in his expression. 

Although, as he was battling the symptoms of withdrawal, he couldn’t help but look around at the people on the streets. Men and women alike, all on their joy like good citizens, strolled down the rainbow-lined streets with a gleeful smile about them like life is just a piece of cake. As he looked at them, he couldn’t help but wonder something. Why was it so easy for them to just keep living like that but for him, but he just couldn’t do it? He knew about his motives, but he didn’t quite know about theirs. Although, he didn’t really need to know what they were to know that he didn’t want to follow the influence of Joy anymore. 

As he was watching all the Wellies go about their day, Oliver couldn’t help but notice the sound of chatter in the background. The more he listened, the more a genuine smile started to creep into his expression. It was just two women talking about the Constables in the area. Hearing what they had to say about them, especially since he knew every single one of them, genuinely made him want to chuckle. Now that’s a starter. Although, when he heard  _ his _ name mentioned in their conversation, the genuineness in his smile immediately left his expression. He listened to their conversation more carefully. 

“What about Constable Bondarev?” Piped up one of the women, her voice was mellow and quiet, but passionate sounding. 

“Oh, the Rusky? What about him?” The other one replied, her voice the complete opposite of the other’s, but still just as passionate.

“Well,what do you think of him?”    


“He’s a strange one. Quite mysterious indeed...I can’t quite figure him out. He’s like the others, but at the same time, there’s something different about him,"--she paused, noticing the other woman's look--"oh, don’t take that the wrong way, he’s different in an interesting way, not just because he's Russian. He’s not bad looking, either. Nice sharp features, a little short for my tastes though. Very curly hair. His most striking feature is his  _ eyes _ . They’re so blue that it almost pierces you...but, they’re a nice icy blue. That being said, he’s elegant in a way. Although at the same time, he’s quite menacing when provoked. I guess he doesn’t have the nickname ‘Venom’ for no reason…” 

“That’s true...although he’s quite friendly to most. Except, I’ve noticed that he’s become a little more quiet and squirrelly over the past couple weeks. He still has that venomous flare, I don’t think that’s going anywhere, but he’s more quiet. It’s probably just a higher dose of Joy, but, I wonder what else it could be..” 

The other woman made a dramatic gasp and a little giggle. “You don’t suppose that he’s a  _ Downer _ …?” Immediately after she said that, she busted into an unstoppable fit of giggling. 

“Now you’re just begging for me to come over there and kick your a-”

At that point, Oliver’s paranoia shot through the roof. He knew that she said that as a joke, but he couldn’t help feel his heart skip a beat at it. Obviously, he knew that he was overreacting, but he couldn’t help it, he was scared out of his mind of being caught. The paranoia of being caught mixed with his splitting withdrawal headache put him in anxiety hell. What if someone caught him? What if someone noticed that he was shivering beyond control? What if he started crying and he didn’t even notice it? 

Apparently, Oliver was so stuck in his own loop of anxiety-riddled thoughts that he didn’t even notice someone firmly calling his name. He only snapped slightly out of his anxiety when he felt something rest on his shoulder. Immediately, Oliver jerked and looked around to see who touched him. His paranoia and anxiety didn’t really calm down a whole lot when he saw who it was, however. It was just another constable...constable Wren? Wren didn’t really stand out a whole lot against the other bobbies, his most distinctive feature was his auburn colored hair. 

“All right?” Wren asked Oliver, a note of suspicion in his voice. Those notes of suspicion in other’s voices always makes Oliver’s heart skip a beat no matter how subtle it was. 

“Of course..I’m sure it’ll clear up soon, I imagine.” Oliver put on his best fake smile as he managed to push that out of his anxiety. Although, he must have been trembling a bit from the withdrawal, as the skepticism in Wren’s eyes never left. 

“Are you off your Joy?” 

Oliver’s stomach dropped. “What? Of course not!  As snug as a bug on a drug .” 

The skepticism in Wren’s eyes never left, but he ultimately took his hand off Oliver’s shoulder. “Alright...at least try to keep an eye out for the Downer bastard who smoked this poor sap.” Wren gestured down to the ground and crouched back down. 

Oliver was struck with momentary confusion at that, but it was immediately cleared when he looked behind himself. Apparently his withdrawal-fueled hysteria was enough to make him forget why he was even standing around at this particular spot in the first place. There was a dead Wellie, sprawled out and face down, in a puddle of her own blood. She was probably knocked over the head with something. Although like most situations of this sort, the “murderous wastrel” usually comes back to the scene of the crime. 

Although, as he tried to focus on keeping an eye out for the perpetrator, a random memory that was buried leaped out at him from out of the blue. Usually, he disliked when that happened because it usually caused him some disorientation. Since usually they were about his childhood during the war, the trains to Germany, Charlotte’s demise, and...Wolfgang. The thought of Wolfgang always left a bitter taste in Oliver’s mouth. 

Although, this time the memory was something that kind of brightened up his forced-happiness expression. The place where him and Charlotte used to live was just around the next block or two, maybe he could check it out when he was off-duty. Not even a second later however, that happy memory came crashing down into depressing territory as that was also the same place where he turned in Charlotte. The smile immediately ran from his face as he brought up a gloved hand to cover his mouth. 

The sounds of a young woman shrieking his name over and over again filled his memory, her long blonde hair flailing about in the air as she struggled and thrashed in her brother’s grasp. An empty pill bottle rolled across the floor at a mundane speed.

Oliver realized that he was clamping his eyes shut and immediately snapped them open.

His heart felt like it stopped when he thought he saw Charlotte standing in front of him, her white sweater tattered and worn. He vaguely remembered when that sweater was way too big for her, when it surpassed her hands. She looked at him with those same piercing blue eyes and her wide, mischievous smile. Almost like that same smile she wore when she was going to go pull another prank on Lee. Although, she was gone in an instant when he blinked. 

Oliver drew his hand away from his mouth and looked around for at least a fragment of her left in his vision. But nothing came. He did what he usually did when he got flashbacks like this, he desperately started envisioning what Charlotte looked and acted like so that he would never forget her again. He did the same thing with Lee, but he usually had a harder time with envisioning him. He hated himself for this, since he knew it was because of his Joy abuse. Because of that he could barely even remember what his own brother looked like, as he wasn’t with Oliver and Charlotte for that long. He got taken away to Germany when he was seven years old. All that came to mind when he thought about Lee was his misty eyes, his light brown hair, and the sound of a train whistle and him calling out Oliver and Charlotte’s names as he was dragged aboard the train. 

Oliver fought the urge to immediately cover his ears when he heard the train whistle, it pierced his memory and rattled around in his skull so badly that it blocked out anything else. Apparently, from what he could remember, Charlotte and Oliver couldn’t board the train because the Bobby who was there got their birthdays wrong. Why hadn’t Oliver or Charlotte just said that the dates were right and got on the train with Lee? Why did they have to be so honest in that situation? Why did they leave their little brother alone? Oliver tried and tried again to remember why they had told the truth, but he just couldn’t manage to conjure that out of his Joy-abused memory. 

Eventually, the noises of the train and Lee’s hysteric cries faded into the background. The grayness which surrounded him faded a little bit, but not much, it was always there ever since he weaned himself off Joy. Although after that episode, he couldn’t get over the feeling of the grin that was stretched across his face. He wanted to rip the smile off his own face, but he couldn’t, since the mask he was wearing forced his expression into a smile. The belief was that when the mask forces you to smile, you couldn’t help but be happy. Except, Oliver felt anything but happiness at the moment. 

Although, he suddenly came back to reality when he heard a sudden yell from Constable Wren, who he almost forgot was even there. He immediately turned around from where he was standing and locked eyes with a Downer who was digging around in the dead woman’s jacket. Oliver despised this part of being a Constable, as he knew he would probably have to take matters into his own hands. 

As soon as Oliver even made eye contact with him, the Downer didn’t waste any time and immediately bolted off in the direction he came from, dropping everything that he picked from the Wellie’s jacket. Oliver’s stomach churned as he immediately dashed after the Downer, knowing it wouldn’t take long to catch up to him. It only took about a half a block to be right on the Downer’s tail, when he got close enough he drew his baton from his holster and struck the fleeing Downer right on the side of the head. The contact made a sickening “crack” as the Downer immediately stumbled down onto the hard stone sidewalk out of disorientation, coughing up blood as he did so. 

Oliver had his baton raised up to make the ending strike, but unlike the rest where he just did it quickly to get it over with, he did something deadly that would surely cause his capture. He froze, just as he did exactly two weeks ago. While the Downer was clearly an adult, something about him made him remember Lee. Maybe it was his hair, or his eyes, Oliver didn’t exactly know what it was. Due to this remembrance, he couldn’t let himself give the ending strike. 

The Downer’s incoherent begging made the shriek of the train whistle and  Lee’s screams echo in Oliver’s head, the horrid sound of the train’s gears scraping across the iron tracks gave him a splitting headache. 

After a bit, the Downer’s incoherent begging quieted down to nothing. He looked up at Oliver with confusion in his terrified eyes, obviously wondering why he wasn’t dead yet. Oliver’s shaking grip on his baton tightened as he decided to just get it over with. He met the Downer’s eyes with a look that basically said “I’m so sorry”. He turned his head to the side and clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to look at what he was about to do, and he finally brought the baton down on him. 

All he heard was a dull “thud” that meant he made contact with the downer. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at what he did with horror. He looked down at his hands and almost burst into tears, but luckily he suppressed them well. But what he didn’t suppress was his mortified stare and his uncontrollable shaking. 

There was blood all over his gloves and cuffs, with some on his chest. He knew that he should avert his eyes from what he did to the Downer, but he just kept staring at it in horror. It was almost as if the Downer was staring back at him, his glassy, lifeless eyes still held shock in them. Although, it kind of looked like he was staring past Oliver. Those looks from the dead always sent a chill up his spine.

He knew that this Downer was just like any of the others he’d turned in and killed or knocked unconscious, but somehow it felt immensely different. It felt almost as if he killed his brother, even though he hadn’t seen him for a huge chunk of his life and even if he saw him at some point, they would be strangers to each other. But still, the fantasy felt so real that he couldn’t bear the thought. The train’s whistle faded away into nothingness along with Lee’s scream, leaving Oliver in silence at what he did. 

By then a crowd formed around the both of them, all of them smiling and thanking Oliver for the scene. Oliver didn’t respond to any of that, of course. A few seconds later Wren raced over to him with a satisfied smile on his face, joining in on the thanks and even laughing about it. He leaned over and tapped the dead Downer on the cheek with his baton, turning his head to the side. “Cheer up, you bastard.” He hissed sinisterly to the Downer. 

Oliver felt a twinge of disgust at that comment, but he still didn’t say anything due to being petrified by his earlier act. Soon, they all started to notice Oliver’s odd behavior and went silent themselves, all looking at Oliver with expectancy. Wren looked at him with confusion in his eyes, but it soon turned into an “aha!” kind of expression when he noticed Oliver’s disoriented gaze. “So you  _ are _ off your Joy..”

Oliver finally looked up from his blood stained gloves and looked at Wren, terrified. Wren nodded solemnly and dug in his jacket pocket for a bit, finally pulling out an innocent-looking pink pill. “Here, have one of mine.” He held the pill out to Oliver, giving him a small, but menacing, smile that basically told him: “Take it now.”    


Oliver looked at the pill, still shaking as he looked at it. He was repulsed with the idea of simply looking at that pill, although he didn’t say it out loud. He just backed away from the pill, looking at it and Wren with disdain and horror. He knew he could die now, he saw the statistics, but he just simply couldn’t take it.

Wren’s expression darkened into one of surprise as he put the pill back into his pocket. He reached back and rested a hand on his baton. “Oh my god he’s a Downer..” 

Oliver’s eyes widened in sheer terror, his heart thumped in his chest rapidly as he looked around at the now frowning Wellies that accompanied Wren. He backed up even farther as he saw them draw out weapons, most small, but some were quite intimidating. 

“Someone get Doctor Sawyer now !” Wren barked at another one of the constables in the area, who were also joining in on the enclosing mob. Their eyes were full of surprise and repulsion at Oliver, their looks made his stomach churn. 

_ Doctor Sawyer. _ That name rung over and over again in Oliver’s mind. He knew that name, and once that name is uttered, it’s usually not good. Doctor Sawyer was the head of the rehabilitation facility. Just the mere mention of his name made most Downers shit their pants. A warm liquid trailed down his legs. He knew now that it was flee or get caught in Sawyer’s web. In an instant, he twisted around and ran off in the opposite direction, pushing himself as far as he could go, since if he slipped up just for a second all hope would be lost. 

He barreled past Wellies and pushed them out of the way, getting several more on his tail and chucking miscellaneous items at him. The elderly women in the area screeched at him, but didn’t run at him. He may have pushed one down due to his adrenaline at some point, but honestly he didn’t really care. He didn’t know exactly what direction he was going in, any direction that diverted from a path or made a complicated trail was good enough for him, but at that point it felt like he had the entire Constabulary tailing him. 

Finally, he made enough zig zags and kitty corners that he managed to lose them a few kilometers away. Although, he could still hear their shouts and curses at him from afar. The place he ended up at was surprisingly empty, almost uneasily empty. Although, there was one Wellie just minding his own business on the bench next to the sidewalk, a gleeful smile on his face just like normal. Oliver couldn’t waste any time with this as he heard his pursuer’s shouts growing closer. His heart thumped rapidly as he tried to find something to hide in, but then it hit him. There was a manhole right in the center of the street. If he could get into the sewers without anyone noticing, then he would be safe from them and he could wait until it was safe enough to come out. The real question was, what would he do after that? He decided he would burn that bridge when he got to it. The main problem for now was, there was that Wellie sitting on the bench that would witness him climb into the manhole. 

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he was steadily running out of time, the voices from the other Constables were growing closer on him and nearing this same block. He looked over at the other Wellie and they both made eye contact. The Wellie smiled and waved at him but Oliver didn’t do the same, which drew a frown from the other Wellie. It’s either do or die. He ran up to the Wellie and wrapped his arms around his neck, squeezing it tightly so that the Wellie would suffocate. The Wellie clawed and scratched at Oliver’s wrists as his last breath escaped him. 

“It’s not you...it’s definitely me.” Oliver whispered to him as he brought him down, lying his victim on the ground as he walked towards the manhole. He crouched down towards the cover and pried at it, almost ripping the cover off as he dropped it to the side with a dull “thud”. He looked up and saw the front of the mob rounding the corner he was in. Adrenaline kicked up to the max as he threw himself down the manhole, narrowly escaping their grasp by minutes. He re-positioned the cover above the manhole right when he heard a horde of footsteps and the sounds of an incessant whistle blowing down the street. 

He wasted no time and darted down the damp tunnels of the sewers, his footsteps echoing in the darkness as he sprinted in a random direction. Anywhere away from the manhole opening was a good enough direction for him. Since it was nearly pitch black in the tunnels, he kept to the right of the tunnel to avoid falling in the river of sewage that flowed in the middle of the cavern. 

After awhile of running in a random direction, he finally felt that he got far enough away from the manhole and slowed his pace to a stop. The silence in the tunnels was uncomfortable to say the least, since now he was left with the thought of being officially labeled as a Downer. He had failed at flying under the radar and he was now on the run. It felt extremely uncomfortable to let that sink in. He couldn’t just climb out of the manhole anytime soon, since the only clothes he had on him now was that blood stained uniform. He’d just get chased down again. There’s always the option of trying to escape Wellington Wells itself, but that was way too risky. Another option would also be to get chased out and run around and starve in the Garden Districts, but he didn’t particularly like that idea.

He would never be able to get back in unless he waited for them to eventually forget about his existence. But if he did that, where would he go in that time?   
Oliver didn’t even have time to even try to answer that question, since he heard rapid footsteps from behind him and the sound of a whistle blowing. Oliver immediately turned his head back and saw the familiar blue tinted flashlight. The light danced off of the bleak sewage tunnel with haste, signaling that the constables were on their way.   


_ 'No!’ _ He yelled internally, knowing now that he didn’t make it into the hole in time for them to lose him. But, he didn’t have time to yell at himself for being an idiot or stare and gawk at the light, so he made a mad dash for escapism, his footsteps echoing rapidly on the tunnel floor as he bolted in a random direction. Deep down, he knew it was futile to run, since he was sure to get caught. He was outnumbered badly and not quick enough to escape them. Eventually, he hit a dead end at a bolted door, probably for maintenance. Oliver cursed loudly and banged on the door, knowing that it was useless to even do so. He pulled at the wheel in the center and tried to turn it in desperate hopes to open it, but it was, of course, jammed. 

With little options and the shouts of his prior colleagues growing nearer, he grabbed a hold of one of the pipes next to the door and ripped it out of the wall, his grasp on the pipe shaking wildly with adrenaline and desperation as the constables finally reached him. 

Letting his venom take over, as always, he swung the lead pipe at one of them, which collided sharply with his baton, which made Oliver stumble back a little bit. The other constables shouted at him to put it down as they swarmed over him, harshly knocking Oliver to the ground. 

“I’ll fix you!” One of the constables barked at him as he felt a dull pain in the side of his face, causing blood to trickle from his nose. The last thing he saw when he looked up was the sight of a baton on a collision-course towards his face before he was surrounded by a cold, numb darkness.

  
  
  
  


Constable Wren looked down at the unconscious Downer, his muted green eyes filled with disgust, but satisfaction, at the sprawled out sight. Who would have thought that one of his own would become a Downer. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Constable Bondarev was one of the last choices he would have picked to be suspicious of being a Downer. He was so passionate of his job and truly believed he was doing the right thing, which he obviously was. He always did his job with a smile!

Although, the more he thought about it, the more his erratic and suspicious behavior started to make sense. When he was acting up prior to his melt down, Wren was right that he was off his Joy. How long had he been off it? Days? Months? No one would know. And frankly, Wren didn’t really care. As long as this filth was out of the police force, it didn’t matter.

He was about ready to help the rest of his squad haul Constable Bondarev out of the sewers, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A pipe was broken on the wall next to the maintenance door, looking as if it was ripped straight out of the wall. Although that wasn’t the main problem. The main problem was that moteline was leaking out of it. The thick, purple liquid puddled onto the floor, dangerously close to Bondarev’s unconscious body. However, Wren cared more about the rest of his squad than that piece of filth. 

“God dammit..” He cursed to himself, knowing they wouldn’t have that much time until they were infected by the toxin. To avoid breathing it in, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He pressed the cloth to his face and shouted hastily to the other Constables, who were right in the middle of removing Penn’s uniform. “Drop him! Moteline’s leaking from the pipes!”    


“But Doctor Sawyer said specifically-” One of them piped up, his grip still firm on Bondarev’s shoulders. Although, Wren swiftly cut him off.

“Doctor Sawyer’s going to have to suck it up. We’re going to get sick if we stay any longer! Just...drop him in the sewage and let him die. He’s a Downer anyways.” 

The other Constable’s looked at each other, conflicted, but it didn’t take them long to nod in agreement and haul Bondarev over to where the sewage river laid in the middle of the tunnel. They hung him over the edge and let him sink into the sewage. Wren watched as Bondarev floated down the sewage river, probably to suffocate in the sludge before he even came into consciousness. “Downer bastard.” He spat at Bondarev as he lead the rest of his squad back down the dark, mossy tunnel. They’d have to break it to Doctor Sawyer that Bondarev had not been captured. 


	3. The Station

_ Oliver lied face down, listening to the silence. He was alone, uncomfortably alone. No one was watching him for the first time in awhile. He wasn’t completely sure that he was actually there himself.  _

_ A few moments later it came to him that he must exist in some way, more than just a disembodied thought, because he could feel himself lying on some sort of surface. So, he had a sense of touch, and so whatever he was lying on also existed as well. Almost as soon as he reached this conclusion, he realized that he was completely naked. Although he was in total solitude, he didn’t really care that much about it. Oliver wondered, since he could feel, if he could see as well. Upon opening them, he discovered that he also had eyes.  _

_ He laid in a bright mist, though it wasn’t anything like the toxic fog in St. George or any mist he’d experienced from his childhood. His surroundings weren’t obscured by the mist, it actually seemed like it emphasized them. The floor on which he laid seemed a pure, bright white. Although it wasn’t cold or warm at all, it was just...there.  _

_ He sat up. Upon looking around his surroundings, he realized that wherever he was had some sort of shape to it. Its overarching ceilings and almost infinite amount of benches seemed eerily familiar. Too familiar. Then, when he put more thought into it, remembrance hit him. This place looked almost exactly like a train station.  _ _   
_

_ Almost as soon as he realized that, he heard the painstakingly familiar sound of a train whistling and rusted steel wheels screeching against railroad tracks from behind him. Although, this time, it didn’t give him that same splitting headache that it always did. All it did was shoot an arrow of terror through his heart. He turned around to see where the train whistle was coming from and he saw that there was a train scooting across the tracks at a slow pace, its huffing and puffing getting steadily louder as the train increased its speed.  _

_ Although, that’s not the part that frightened him. The part that really got to him was seeing Lee getting dragged by the Jerries onto the train. Except, Lee’s face was blurred except for the occasional glance at his wide, misty eyes. Oliver’s main instinct to that sight was to immediately rip him from the Germans’ grasp, but he found that he couldn’t do that at all. In fact, he couldn’t seem to move at all. He could only watch in longing horror as his little brother was dragged aboard the train to Germany. Although, Lee wasn’t the only victim of the train. The train’s windows were cracked open, hundreds of little hands slipped through the cracks in the windows, trying to grasp for hope that was already stolen from them.  _

_ Before Oliver could even realize it, he was letting out a desperate cry. No matter how much he tried to free himself from whatever had a hold of him, he simply couldn’t. All he could do was watch it happen. Though it seemed like a lifetime of enduring this torture, the train finally departed with a final whistle, almost as if it was laughing at him.  _

_ Oliver trembled with guilt, wishing so bad that he had just got on the train with Lee all those many years ago. But he didn’t. And even now he couldn’t remember why he and Charlotte told the Bobby the truth about the incorrect dates. Tears of hatred at himself flowed down his cheeks.  _

_ He whisked away from the tracks as soon as he was able to move, not wanting to look at it anymore. Although, as soon as he looked away, he noticed someone else sitting on one of the benches behind him. They had thick, pitch black hair, wolf-like features, a light brown sweater vest, and most familiar of all, sharp amber eyes. Oliver’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t even need to pause to recognize this person, he already knew who it was. It was Wolfgang.  _

_ He immediately felt the need to apologize to Wolfgang, since the feeling of guilt multiplied when he saw him sitting on the bench. But, he found that all words escaped him in this situation. More tears fell down his cheeks.  _

_ Wolfgang looked up at Oliver, his amber eyes not changing when he saw him. They looked just as cold as they always were. “Hello, Oliver.”  _

_ Oliver’s heart sank a little bit when he noticed there was no change in his eyes. In all his years of childhood spent with Wolfgang in the garden district, he could still never fully figure him out. The way Wolfgang thought was always a mystery to Oliver. That sometimes lead to immense frustration on his part.  _

_ “You really have gotten yourself into a difficult situation this time. You’re a Downer now.” Wolfgang said, no change in his voice at all. Just that same, sometimes insufferable, intelligent air to his voice.  _

_ Oliver didn’t respond, since he didn’t know what to say at all. He just nodded solemnly.  _

_ When Oliver didn’t respond, Wolfgang just continued. “You know that you can’t go back to Wellington Wells.”  _

_ “Then where else can I go? I can just wait it out and go back to St. George-” Oliver finally piped up, but was immediately cut off.  _

_ “And keep flying under the radar until you fail in front of an entire crowd again? You know that it’s futile.” _

_ This time, Oliver stayed silent and turned his gaze away. He knew that Wolfgang was right. Then again, when wasn’t he right? He swallowed the lump building up in his throat, his fear sinking to his stomach like a brick at the thought of escaping Wellington Wells. If even Wellies can’t leave if they tried, then he couldn’t even imagine how hard it was for Downers to escape, being as hunted as they are.  _

_ “Ah, so you’re afraid,” Wolfgang broke the silence. “You have every right to be afraid. But, nothing good will come out of staying. There’s a whole other world outside of Wellington Wells, and who knows, maybe you can get to Germany if you manage to break your way out of this cage.”  _

_ Oliver immediately turned his gaze to Wolfgang at the mention of Germany. Except, it wasn’t Wolfgang anymore. Instead, it was a woman with long, curly blonde hair. Her eyes were an icy blue.  _

_ The guilt that Oliver felt literally skyrocketed when he saw Charlotte sitting just a few feet away from him. He wanted to say so many things to her, that he was sorry, most of all. But it was all so overwhelming that he just stayed silent, tears of guilt and shame rolling down his cheeks at a steady rate.  _

_ What was weirdest to Oliver, however, was that she didn’t look disgusted with him at all. There was no trace of hatred in her eyes, only that same look of mischief and lightheartedness that she always had. She reached over and patted the space next to her on the bench.  _

_ Oliver took the hint and reluctantly sat down next to her, trying to figure out how to say all those things he wanted to say to her at one time. But, he couldn’t. Although, he remembered the one thing that she mentioned, something about Germany. “...Germany?”  _ _   
_

_ Charlotte’s smile brightened at that. “Yeah! Germany. You could always go there when you get out of here.”  _

_ “But...why? That’s the place that took all the children...that caused all this to happen..why would I ever want to go there?”  _

_Charlotte’s expression darkened this time into one of uncharacteristic seriousness. “Have you ever considered that Lee could still be alive? Or have you locked that thought away in your deepest memory along with what we did to Germany?” _

_ Oliver sat stunned with Charlotte’s seriousness, unable to find the right words to retort. Yes, he had considered the idea that Lee was still alive, but he always pushed it away with the pessimistic thought that he was likely dead. And for Germany, he could barely even remember what they did to Germany. He remembered most things about the occupation, well, as much as his joy-abused memory could conjure, up until that point. He couldn’t even remember one single thing about it, it was just a blur of weird pain and misery.  _

_ When Oliver didn’t respond for awhile, Charlotte continued on with her point. “Lee was taken on the trains when he was seven...he was little. Now, he could be a teenager,” She came a bit closer to Oliver. “Look, you can’t keep locking yourself up in Wellington Wells. I know that you’re scared to leave, but it’s the only way that you’ll be able to have a second chance. If you stay here, you’ll never be happy. In fact, you’ll probably be dead. It’s going to be hard, I know, but something being hard doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”  _

_ Oliver felt a pressure rise in his chest at her words. He knew that she was absolutely right and he couldn’t deny it. Lee could very well be alive and his only chance at life was to escape Wellington Wells. But, could he do it? His self doubt rose along with his determination.  _

_ He felt his eyes widen in desperation when he saw her start to fade away. It almost looked like she was unraveling, simply just blowing away like sand in the nonexistent wind. He immediately tried to grab a hold of her, but if felt as if he was just sifting through sand or a projection of light. “N-No, wait! Don’t leave yet!”  _ _   
_

_ Charlotte just kept smiling softly at him as she faded. “You have to find Lee. Do it for him. For me, for Wolfgang..” Though it was faint, as she was still just barely there, she flashed a wink and something that kind of looked like a thumbs-up. “Good luck.”  _ _   
_

_ And just like that, she was gone. Oliver didn’t even get any time to recollect, as the train station started to fade as soon as Charlotte left him. The neither-cold-nor-warm floor started to turn into thick, brown sludge that swallowed up almost everything that came into contact with it. Including Oliver. He let out a harsh gasp as he was harshly dragged into the sludge along with everything else. The small, last glance he caught of the pure white train station sank and dissolved into the darkness that was already consuming his mind.  _


	4. The Tragedy of Thomas Sterling

In almost an instant, thick, brown sludge surrounded him from all sides, gaining a stranglehold on him as he flailed around pathetically. He gasped and sobbed for air as the current of slime swept him. The dream of the train station was still so clear in Oliver’s mind, so clear that it terrified him. He could have sworn that he saw the pure white station just a few seconds ago, but all he saw was a sickly brown in his vision. Though he tried to calm himself down and stop hyperventilating, the sludge was so thick that it was nearly choking him. 

He caught a glimpse of the ledge to the side, trying to grab onto it, though his grip kept slipping due to his irrational shock. When his lungs started to ignite out of deprivation of air, he realized how ridiculous he was being by floundering around in the sewage and rested an steel-tight grip on the ledge. Now much calmer than he was a few seconds ago, he hoisted himself up out of the water and onto the grimy stone floor. 

He coughed and wheezed relentlessly and collapsed onto the floor. When his coughing fit was finally over and his breathing returned to a somewhat normal rate, he rolled off his side and sat up. He gagged a bit when he caught sight of his filthy, grime and blood stained uniform.  _ “God...I hope I didn’t get salmonella,”  _ he thought to himself.

Oliver looked down at his gloves as well. They were completely soaked with sludge and grime. “Well...I guess these won’t do me much good anymore.” he muttered to himself as he slipped them off. 

As more and more of the events from earlier came back to him, he started to realize that he wasn’t in St. George’s sewers anymore. His heart thumped nervously in his chest as he looked around the tunnel. He had a pretty good grasp on St. George's sewage systems, and none of that looked like the cavern he was in now. The more he thought about it, the more anger exploded within him when everything clicked. Those bastards chucked him in the sludge! 

“How terribly thoughtful of them. I hope Doctor Sawyer’s roasting their sorry asses..” he fumed to himself. Then again, he guessed that it was for the better. If they had brought him to the surface, he would probably be wishing he was chucked in the sewage instead. 

Still fuming slightly, he stood up fully to explore the grimy underground. There wasn’t very much to see in the dank cavern, not even a hint of where the current had swept him. Though, he assumed that he’d been hitching a ride with the current for awhile. This part of the underground looked even more decrepit than under St. George. 

“Christ...how far did the current sweep me? I’m pretty sure that I’m not even in St. George anymore. I’m definitely not in the Parade.” 

Though, the more time he spent in this sewer made him all the more agitated. What was he doing just standing here? He’s not going to escape by standing around in a damp, disease filled sewer. He clenched his fists and cursed under his breath, starting down the tunnel to find some sort of way out. The moteline pipes along the tunnel cast a sort of purplish light against the drab walls of the tunnel, making it slightly easier to see. At least there was that. 

There was a sort of uncomfortable silence hanging in the air, though it was broken by the sound of the heels of his boots clacking against the stone floor. That and his thoughts. Now that there was no high-adrenaline chase to disturb him from his thoughts, they were allowed to fully sink in. He was on his own in the wild from now on. His goals have now morphed into something he never thought that they would become. Escape was his only chance. 

Even now as he walked, the vividness of his dream of the pure white train station never left. It was almost as if he could still feel his sister’s presence even though he was conscious. Though he knew it wasn’t really her or Wolfgang, that would be absurd, the encouragement and determination brought forth by the dream struck him. Lee  _ was _ out there. He  _ had _ to be. But there was one thing that still tugged at even the deepest crevices of his mind. Where would he even begin? The path he was on from his times of flying under the radar had been wiped completely clean and now he was left in only unsure fog.

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it,” he said, the sound of his voice echoing in the chamber startling him a bit. “I still need to get the hell out of this sewer.” 

Oliver kept walking until he found a doorway, probably for maintenance. He decided to test his luck and tried to open it. Surprisingly, the metal door creaked open. Walking in, he found that the room was deserted and filthy, like it hadn’t had people in it for months. There was a door at the end of the room, marked with lettering that said “Barrow Holm moteline distribution”. 

_ “That’ll be my ticket out of here,”  _ he thought.  _ “Damn, where is Barrow Holm again? It’s not in the village or the parade, that’s for sure.”  _

He went up to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Getting a little frustrated at this point, he searched around the room opening drawers, filing cabinets, etc. until he found a few metal bits lying on top of a table next to a set of bunk beds. He bent the tip of one of the metal bits and twisted it into a point. Then, he went over to the door and inserted it into the lock, jiggling it a little until the lock clicked in agreement. 

“There we go,” he said. “A whole childhood with the Defenders finally paid off.”

Oliver was just about to open the door when he caught sight of a few papers lying on a few boxes next to the door. Thinking that it couldn't really hurt to take a peak, he grabbed the papers and began reading them. 

  
  


27 April 1963

To: Rupert Falon, Barrow Holm distribution 

  
  


From: Axel Marsh, Chief engineer 

  
  


Dear Rupert, 

Are you sure that Tom is off his joy? Maybe he forgot. You’ve got to look after your mates, man. Have you tried tying a string around his finger? That always helps me out a bunch. 

Anyways, I can’t reassign Tom because I haven’t got a replacement. All the other juniors are off at Scargill. The subsidence has been severing all sorts of connections, and the Moteliene must flow. 

I really appreciate you sticking by your post. If we don’t do our duty, who are we? 

But, seriously, try the string around the finger. I feel certain you will manage the situation. 

  
  


All the best, 

Axel

  
  
  


Oliver set the letter back down on the box and began reading the other. 

  
  
  


29 April 1963

To: Axel Marsh, Chief Engineer 

  
  


From: Rupert Falon, Barrow Holm Distribution 

  
  


He’s not “off his joy” he’s completely lost the plot. And he’s hoarding all the carrots! He keeps growling at me whenever I try to eat mine. I’ll try to talk some sense into him, but then I’m going straight back to the village. Duty be damned. 

  
  
  
  
R.

Since that was the last letter, Oliver sat the memo on the box with the other one. 

“Well, I hope that was solved,” he said. 

He then opened the door and was greeted with a shocking sight. In front of one of the pipes used to pump the moteline, a corpse laid sprawled out on the floor with an electro-lock-shocker next to it. First, Oliver felt sorry for the corpse, but then he drifted to the usefulness of the lock shocker and searching the corpse’s body for anything useful. 

He swiped the lock shocker and began frisking the poor man’s body, feeling awful about it the entire time, but then he caught sight of his name tag. “Rupert Falon”. 

“And solved it was…” Oliver grimaced. “I wonder where Tom went then.” 

Rupert’s body was free of anything useful, so Oliver decided to go on his merry way. That’s when it hit him again, the train whistle in the back of his head. He groaned and fisted his hand into his tangled and somewhat damp hair. His surroundings started to fade to black as a memory seeped its way into his mind once more. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Oliver and Lee sat together on the sofa, listening to the radio and the latest news on the war. Charlotte was upstairs doing God knows what, probably scheming something for the Defenders to do.  _

_ Lee then turned to Oliver, but his misty eyes were looking more to the right of him.  _

_ “Ollie, a-are they going to hurt us?” He asked.  _

_ “No one’s going to hurt you, Lee, I promise.” Oliver said, a little hesitant.  _

_ “But…” Lee paused, trying to think of the right words. “B-But they hurt the city…” _

_ “I don’t think they’ll blow anything else up.”  _

_ “Wh-Why?”  _

_ Oliver shrugged. “Because we surrendered or something.”  _

_ “What are we going to do, Ollie?” Lee looked visibly upset at this point.  _

_ Oliver reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it back and forth gently. “We’re brothers! I’ll look out for... _ we’ll _ look out for each other.”  _

  
  
  
  


Oliver let go of his hair after his surroundings returned to him. His stomach threatened to lose his lunch at any moment, but he fought it with firmness. 

“Damn, these flashes never get any easier..”

He walked around the maintenance room, looking for anything that could be useful. It didn’t take him long before he stumbled across a book lying on a set of bunk beds in the corner of the room. The wall was covered in scribbles from some sort of chalk and pages from the book were strewn all over the floor. When he read the inside cover of the book, it started to make more sense. It read, “The Diary of  Thomas Sterling ”. 

He wondered whether it was morally correct to read someone else’s diary, even if it was one of an apparent murderer, but he just couldn’t resist. 

  
  
  


April 20 

I looked into the light like the Doctors told me and I could’ve sworn that I saw shapes moving in there, like shadows but made of light.

And there’s shadows all around, they’re always around the corner. 

He keeps turning lights off, says he wants to save the bulbs. Trying to make me think I’m going blind, isn’t he? How he just loves to feel superior! 

  
  


April 21

Took TWO joy just so I could stand his ugly ass face. Why won’t it work? Did he swap them out for something? Paracetamol? Jelly beans? 

Jesus, we haven’t had jelly beans since. . . have we ever had jelly beans? 

  
  


April 22

I hate when he talks in that slow, condescending voice. Like I’m a child. I’m not a child, am I? I don’t know any children. Obviously. 

Jesus, what is wrong with my joy? 

  
  


April 24

There he is, scritching away in the corner. Type, type, type eh Mr. Falon? 

And then the whoosh of the pneumatic tube! He’s blaming it all on me, isn’t he? He says it’s his Missus. I bet he doesn’t even have a missus, with those big mossy teeth. I bet she went out for milk and never came back. Wait. . . we don’t have milk anymore. 

Was I married once? How did it end? I get this horrible pit in my stomach. I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy remembering. 

Something is fucked up about the Joy ! And he won’t send me home. We’ve got to stay here, duty ! 

  
  


April 25 

I can hear him crunching in the dark.. It ISN’T rats! It’s his big mossy teeth. 

I lie awake picturing myself squeezing his neck until his chubby face turns into the color of those carrots he bloody well stole from me. He’s plotting something. 

  
  
  


April 26

Let him try to weasel out of this one, I saw him writing those LIES!!! Reassign me, will he? Off my Joy, am I? I’m bloody well tripling up and he KNOWS IT! 

  
  


April 30 

**WE’VE COME TO THE END OUR OUR TIME WE’VE COME TO THE END OF OUR TIME WE’VE COME TO THE END OF OUR TIME**

  
  
  


“God…” Oliver swallowed hard and gently set the diary back where he found it. He then turned around and went over to the room opposite the beds. It looked like there was some kind of machinery in there, maybe a control room. Noticing there was a keycard swiper, he brought out the electro-lock-shocker from earlier and attempted to hack the panel. He had forgotten just how violent the shockers were as it pretty much obliterated the panel. Oliver let out a little gasp at the burning warmth that emitted from the device, then dropped it as it was pretty much worthless after one go. 

He was about to open the door, but a sinking feeling overcame him for some reason and he paused. Ultimately, he shook it off and opened the door. 

Just then a horrifying shriek erupted from behind the door and out came a man dressed in a boiler suit, he was covered in dried blood. It clicked with Oliver who the man was. 

However, Tom violently shoved him into the machinery behind Oliver before he could even have any time to react, stunning Oliver momentarily. 

Oliver felt a dull pain in his jaw as the wastrel socked him in the face. He put his hands out in front of him as a warning, backing away from Tom. 

“Look, Tom, I don’t want to hurt you,” He said to no avail. 

It seemed the wastrel wasn’t even listening to him, as he lunged for Oliver, practically clawing at him. 

The prior constable shut his eyes and delivered a harsh uppercut to Tom’s jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. 

While he was temporarily knocked out, Oliver took that time to sneak into the control room to open up the hatch. After a little bit of searching, he found a lever that he thought may open it and pulled it down. Sure enough, the ladder descended from the manhole. 

Oliver climbed up the ladder and pushed open the manhole, tossing the cover to the side with a “clunk”. He involuntarily shut his eyes from the light pouring in. Once he regained his vision, he climbed out of the sewer. He looked around at the overgrown and abandoned area he was in and wanted to rip out every follicle of hair on his head. 

His suspicions from earlier were confirmed. He was in the Garden District. 


	5. This is Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized there was a chunk that repeated, so I cut it out. Sorry about the inconvenience

"The bridge," he finally said after a long silence. "I've got to get to the bridge. Which is in the Parade District. Past the city I just got chased out of. Wonderful thinking, Oliver." 

After his banter, he paused and took a moment to examine the tourist poster in front of him. It was a painting of Barrow Holm and its train station, looking remarkably well compared to the wasteland it was now. However, Oliver got an idea. 

"Aha, the train station! If I can just get to the old train station, I can follow the railway tunnel all the way to the bridge!" A smile spread across his face, and from the feeling, he realized something. He was still wearing his mask. 

With a grunt, he reached up to his face and pulled off the mask, staring at it for a short while. Then, a coldness in his eyes, he dropped it to the ground. Without a second glance back, he walked off from where he dropped it. 

He sighed as the grass crunched beneath his boots. "It would be nice if there was a map, I guess. I suppose back in those days, we could actually remember where things were." 

He took a moment to take in his surroundings again, where this time a crashed V-1 Bomber lied, disheveled before him. He gave an almost nostalgic glance to it and started off in the other direction. As he walked around the cul de sac he was in, memories started to flood back to him. This was his home, where he and his siblings spent all their time together. He cast sorrowful looks at the overgrown landscape around him. That was, until he came across a specific postbox which struck him in a familiar sense. 

"I think this might have been the one me, Wolfgang, and Charlotte tried to blow up," He chuckled and rested his hand on it. "I always wondered what happened to the letters. There was an awful lot of smoke." 

He let his hand slide off the postbox as he whisked away from it, taking in the nostalgia from what used to be his home. He felt strangely free now that he was finally not being gawked at for the first time in a couple days. His thoughts roamed free, going every which way as he savored every moment of his return to the Garden District. Eventually, his thoughts dipped into ones of Lee. Oliver stuffed his hands in his pocket and paused, looking out at the vast, shrub like location. 

_ "I'm coming, Lee. I don't have it all figured out yet, but I will find you." _

Oliver sighed and walked onward, he was about to walk onto a paved path when he caught a particular flower out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity got the best of him, so he went over to investigate. He bent down next to the bush with the particular flower and plucked one of its petals. 

"A rose of Gilead! I remember using these as healing balm whenever me and the gang got into a little bit of trouble. These'll come in handy." he said.

A little greedily, he plucked off more and more of the flowers until his pockets could hold no more. Satisfied, he strode away from his findings. _ "I'll probably need to make a satchel for these things later. I'm definitely going to need it." _

A house was in front of where the bush was. It looked like any other of these abandoned houses, but something about it struck Oliver. It seemed pretty dead, so he figured that it couldn't hurt to take a look at it. 

Upon walking through the door frame, an eerie chill slid down his spine. A record was playing somewhere in the house, but it was old and distorted, adding to the ominous atmosphere. It had the same energy as a cemetery did. Cautiously, Oliver began searching through the house for anything of use. There wasn't much except a few cloth scraps, which he kept for the purpose of making bandages. 

He stopped dead in his tracks when he came across a crib standing alone in one of the rooms. Goosebumps began prickling at Oliver's skin.

"A crib? God...oh Jesus when was the last time there was a baby in Wellington Wells?" 

It didn't stop there, however. Just above the crib there was a chalk drawing of presumably children. Except, instead of faces all they had were scribbles. 

"It's like they couldn't even remember their faces. Or they just couldn't stand remembering them," he said, softly. 

Oliver took a step back, a wave of guilt crashing over him. He felt like he was defacing someone's grave by looting their house. So instead of going up to the first floor to peek some more, he just turned his back on the sight and got out of there as soon as he could. 

After that, what seemed like no time at all, he came to Rorke's Drift Bridge, which fortunately seemed to be pretty deserted. Oliver went up to the maintenance end and tried to open the rotting door, but it wouldn't budge. Sighing, Oliver turned around to try and find another way off the bridge, but instead he turned right into a wastrel's chest. He let out a grunt of surprise and stumbled back.

The man he had bumped into was wearing a military cap and a tattered green blazer. The wastrel looked Oliver up and down and crossed his arms. "Nice uniform, Bobby."

"Why thank you," Oliver replied curtly. 

"Anxious to get back home to the village, Constable?" 

"Well, I actually live, well _ lived _, in St. George." 

The stranger stifled a chuckle. "You won't get past that door. Not without one of those disposable electric cards like all the other bobbies have. And a power cell. Unless magically happen to have one." 

Oliver cursed under his breath. His cards were probably taken from him by that bastard Wren. Either that or rendered useless by the trip in the sewer. 

"Know where I can mug one of my fellow 'comrades'?" He said the word 'comrade' bitterly.

"Oh, you're a brave one aren't you? No, I'll trade you one."

"Don't you want to go back home?" 

"Home to all those bastards who chased me outta my house? Maybe when they all catch the plague and die!" The stranger took a moment to compose himself. "There's something I want a whole lot more. Those bastards in the camp over there, with the helmets and the proper weapons, they took some things from me. If you get 'em back, I'll give you my card."

Oliver gave him the eye when he mentioned weapons. "Sounds kind of dangerous, doesn't it?" 

The man scoffed. "Of course it's bloody dangerous! That's why I'm paying you! Come meet me in the sort of hamlet cathedral a ways, then we'll trade." 

"Alright...well, what are they?" 

"My medals...from the war. I won the DSO at Dunkirk and the Victoria Cross at Ramsgate." The stranger ran his hands through his grey hair. "Those bastards! They think it's funny to keep stealing them...fucking funny they said! Oh, and you'll need a power cell, to fire this thing up. Those hooligans stole most of those too." 

"Right. Well I'll see what I can do." 

As soon as Oliver agreed, the veteran sauntered off towards the church they agreed they'd meet in. Oliver straightened out his uniform some and started off towards the camp. 

"Well, if I go off breaking into a camp of robbers, maybe I can defeat them with a little bit of the 'ol Oliver wits." He said and scoffed at himself. 

After a bit of walking, he eventually came up upon the camp. Oliver actually had to take a step back just to fully embrace the size of the thing. It wasn't just a normal camp, its menacing almost castle look was just begging any wastrel to try anything on it. It apparently even had working sirens! It was somewhat crudely built, with a giant chain link fence as the entry and a board above it that said "HEADBOYS" in white paint. 

"Heavens to fucking Betsy, it's a bloody fortress!" 

As he reluctantly took a few steps closer to the camp, he saw a sign tacked up near the entry way. It read: "Headboy fight, tonight! Fight to the death! Who'll end up in the ring? Damned if we know." 

He put his hands in his pockets and took a step back from the door. He definitely did not want to try and climb that barbed-wire fence. 

"Well, they look pretty buttoned up. I suppose I could wait until they throw a party for the entire neighborhood, or find a more clever way in." 

Then, he glanced up at the sky. It was still bright as day outside. Seeing how tidy it was, he knew better than to go prowling around inside the camp just to be caught and probably killed. Night was a much better chance. 

"I suppose I'll put a cap on it until it's dark out." Oliver sighed and strode away from the camp. He supposed that he should go find a place to go hide out for awhile. Thankfully, he could see a deserted neighborhood close by. As he got closer to the neighborhood, he could hear a faint sound of a record playing inside one of the houses. Since the neighborhood was pretty well deserted, he assumed that the record was playing well before it was abandoned. Either that or it was still inhabited. Nonetheless, he decided to take a closer look. 

Oliver slipped past the door frame and immediately covered his nose from the stench that had settled itself inside the house. 

"Dear God, it smells awful in here." 

He prowled about the house, getting a pit in his stomach from the chalk drawing in the living room. A bunch of what were apparently children had their hands on their heads as as man in a polished uniform and cap pointed a pistol at them. Oliver let out an empty laugh. 

"A very convenient story. The Germans rounded up all the kids at gunpoint. So much better than what we actually did, isn't it?" 

Oliver left the drawing and the pit in his stomach behind with it and ascended the staircase, trying not to look at the random words and ramblings scribbled on the wall beside him. He came across a room with just a single drawer in it with some bobby pins on top of it. And a book. 

Oliver took the bobby pins, thinking he could make a few lockpicks with them, and hesitantly took the book, remembering the last time he read someone's diary and had them attack him out of nowhere. Reluctantly, he gulped and flipped the book open.

The Diary of Edmund Huber

Monday:

I am NOT a Downer! There's no excuse for those people! I'd take my joy happily if I could, oh god I wish I could. Without puking my guts up. How could joy work for years and then suddenly stop? It's like a cruel joke the world is playing on me. I miss the butterflies and rainbows, must think of the butterflies and rainbows. Not the horrors that cloud my head. 

Tuesday:

I miss Hamlyn Village. I strain my ears to hear the sound of Uncle Jack's Simon Says from across the waters every morning. Growing up, I couldn't wait to get out and see the world. Now all I want is a damn cup of tea and to stop feeling. 

Thursday (I think): 

Slept all day yesterday--maybe two days. The days just blur into themselves. 

Friday:

The flowers in the garden district mock me, bursting with color in this hell hole. Why did they just sweep us under the rug like a mote of dust? What's it to them if we can't take Joy? It should make them all the happier that they can! 

Saturday: 

Oh god...oh god oh god. I remember what we did. 

Oliver gulped and set the diary down. The pit in his stomach from earlier came back with a rush, feeling like he was about to discover something dreadful. He backed out of the room and ascended the next staircase. 

Nothing could prepare him for the reality that would slam down on him.

When he finished climbing up the staircase, he nearly fell back down the stairs from the sight he had just witnessed. A man, presumably Edmund Huber, and a woman hung from a rafter in the ceiling from their necks. Their eyes were red and glossy and their limbs hung limp at their sides. Two chairs were kicked over right beside them. 

All words escaped Oliver at the moment, but he felt he knew what was morally right at the moment. In silence, he went over to them and took their necks out of the nooses. One at a time, he picked them up and laid them on the bed in the corner side by side. He brought their hands to meet and, as softly as he could, took one of his fingers and slid their eyes shut. Still in silence, he descended the staircases and went out the way he came in. 

After exiting, he slumped himself against the cobblestone wall and all his words came to him in a desperate, tearful wail. 


	6. A Fortress of Brutality

Oliver woke up from a supposed "power nap" he was taking, but as soon as he opened his eyes, only moonlight shone through the window in the abandoned house he chose to stay in for the time being. The one he discovered prior was an absolute no for Oliver. His eyes were still red and puffy from his sobbing. 

"Shit. I must have slept later than I thought. I'd better get over there before I sleep the night away." 

And with that, he got up and slipped on the bag that he had acquired through digging in the abandoned house. At least now he didn’t have to make one himself to carry all his garbage in. He hastily descended the staircase and left the house for the short walk to the camp. 

Strangely, the Garden District was quite beautiful at night. Its fog kind of reflected the moonlight, giving it an elegant glow. He whistled himself a tune as he made his way to the camps entrance, taking a detour towards the back of the camp, knowing trying to climb that barbed fence was useless. Surprisingly, he didn't even have to try very hard to find another entrance to the camp. The back door was unhinged and lying in the grass, leaving the camp wide open for invaders. Oliver scoffed at the utter incompetence of these supposed robbers. 

He entered the back door, which had some outdated looking machinery inside it along with the Headboy's logo, two swords crossed and dripping blood with a crown above it. Definitely not pretentious at all. 

He crouched down low to the chained up entry and meticulously picked the lock with the bobby pins in his pocket until the lock clicked in approval. Without a second thought, he pushed open the gate and stepped inside. 

Inside was literally a bunker, probably a bomb shelter that was made into a fortress by these Headboys. Footlockers and shelves littered the walls, and the floor. The Reich Eagle perched above an iron cross accompanied it. As he was walking, a beastly roar made the ceiling above him quake violently. Oliver braced for the unstable ceiling to fall, but no such thing happened. Brushing it off, he continued to walk until he was faced with a service lift. 

"Wow. These guys really are innovative, aren't they?" 

He got inside, the red light from above glaring at him as he pushed the button to go down. The red light flickered above him as the elevator moved, but it soon came to a rickety stop. The mechanical doors opened, revealing two malnourished men with leather jackets and helmets. Oliver's heart leaped into his throat, it looked like they had been waiting for someone to get in this elevator. 

"Uh," Oliver managed to let out. "Lovely day for it?" 

"A lovely day isn't it?" One of the hooligans rasped. "Not many get this far, it's like a sort of test, y'know? Someone who gets this far usually puts up a decent fight. We’ve never had the pleasure of having your sort in the arena." 

"I don't suppose there's some way I can be more use to you gentlemen alive?" Oliver asked. 

"I dunno...constable," The other hooligan said, clearly eyeing up Oliver's constabulary uniform. "Can ya juggle?" 

"No...but I can write a lovely poem?" 

"Nah. We've already got a bard." 

"Sorry to hear that then," The stranger from before said. "Put your things in the box or we'll leave you to starve." 

The second headboy bent down and slid a chest through a slot in the elevator. Was this thing built for trapping people? Reluctantly, Oliver took off his satchel, emptied his pockets, and placed everything in the chest, pulling the lid shut with a click. No going back now. 

Both headboys let out a raspy laugh and waved him goodbye, devilish smiles on their expressions as the elevator descended once more. 

Soon, a voice boomed over a megaphone as the elevator doors opened up to a crudely built arena. Still, it was enough to put a lump in Oliver's throat. 

"That was bloody incredible wasn't it? The best circus we've had in weeks! This next gladiator comes directly from the constabulary, according to his decor. Please welcome warmly, Oliver: Prince of the Constabulary!" The voice shouted. 

Oliver panicked slightly as he tapped the elevator button multiple times, as if that would help his situation any. Soon, the metal gate sealing him in opened and he was forced to step forward. He trembled a little bit from the sight of the arena, though a crudely built barrier separated him and whoever would be the poor sap he would have to fight against.

"And in the other corner," The enthusiastic voice began. "Is our two time winner, Lars Knoblet!" 

A bony man with straight wheat colored hair and broken glasses stepped out of the metal gate across from Oliver. As soon as he got close enough to see Oliver, his eyes showed recognition. "Bloody hell, Oliver-fucking-Bondarev?" 

Oliver took a few steps closer to the barrier and had to strain to get his voice over the cheering crowd. "I'm sorry? I don't think I know you." 

"Of course you know me! You got me held back in the last year of high school for plagiarizing on our final!" Lars shouted back. 

"I--uh, I don't quite remember that! It's been decades since high school." 

"Apparently my final report was 'insufficiently original'."

Suddenly, Oliver started remembering who he was. And how he tried to take a bite out of his sister. "Large Omle--I mean, Lars Knoblet? Wow...you've lost a bit of weight. And to be fair, you did steal my work almost completely." 

Lars ignited in rage. "Who gives a shit, Bondarev? That was the final that actually mattered for my high school career!"

Oliver rolled his eyes at him. "I seriously don't want to fight you." 

"The feeling's muted. There's only enough food for the winners, though." 

"Now lads!" The voice over the loudspeaker interrupted. "Choose your weapons! One is quite lethal, the other one'll just give the other sad sack some bad dreams." 

The padded one to the left of Oliver didn't look nearly as effective as the sharp stick. How badly did he really want to hurt Lars? Sighing, he chose the padded one hanging from the string. Glancing over at Lars though, it appeared that he didn't have the same idea in mind for Oliver. How nice. 

"Psst, hey, short bobby." 

Oliver turned to the direction where the whisper came from. 

"I've got great odds on you," One of the headboys whispered to Oliver. "Don't you dare fuck it up!" 

The horn sounded and the barrier lifted, as soon as the barrier was out of sight, Lars launched for Oliver with the lead pipe in hand. Using his reflexes, Oliver raised the padded branch in front of his face and blocked the harsh attack from his former frenemy. Lars, temporarily stunned, dropped his guard which allowed Oliver to shove him to the ground. Obviously Lars has never been in a fight with a trained constable before. When Lars got up, Oliver launched into swift strikes across the face with the padded branch, not holding back on his brutality. After a few hits, Lars reached up and grabbed the branch, exposing his stomach. Oliver quickly kneed him in the gut. As Lars fell down, he landed the ending strike across Lars's head, rendering him unconscious. 

"What have we come to?" Oliver panted through his ragged breaths. 

"Annnd, Lars is down for the count! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!" The bell rang and the crowd went absolutely wild. 

Knowing this wasn't over, Oliver got an idea. He bent down and grabbed Lars's body, holding him like a potato sack over his shoulder. 

"Let's spice it up shall we? How about we let the birds have a chance? If you lost your bet on Knoblet, now's your chance to have a double or quits!" And with that, the horn sounded again and out came two bony women with pretty nasty looking sharpened branches.

As soon as they ran for him, he chucked Knoblet's unconscious body at one of them, temporarily knocking one of them down. He ducked the other woman's attack and quickly grabbed the lead pipe that laid on the ground from Knoblet. Springing upwards, Oliver immediately smashed the lead pipe against one of the women's heads, sending her sprawling to the floor with a pool of blood staining the ground. It wasn't over though, since the other woman retaliated with a slash of her branch across Oliver's stomach. He grunted and jumped back, feeling the blood from his wound seep into his uniform. Gripping the lead pipe tightly, he swung it against her and sharply collided with her branch, breaking the stick in half. The woman stepped back, putting her hands up as her last defense. With a reluctant sigh, Oliver drew his lead pipe and smashed her across the face with it, leaving her with the same fate as the other. 

The crowd roared and Oliver put his face in his blood stained hands, his groaning drowned out by the cheering audience. 

"And Oliver, Prince of the Constabulary is victorious. Oliver, you're free to go! It's been a real pleasure having you over!" The voice barked with laughter along with the crowd. "Catch you later!" 

Oliver, lead pipe still in hand, went through the other metal gate and into the lift inside, pressing the button to go down one more level. All Oliver wanted to do was sleep and beat himself up for the acts he just did to save his own skin.  _ "It's Lee,"  _ He remembered. " _ You have to do this for Lee."  _

He was greeted with another headboy once the metal elevator doors slid open. The headboy waved at him with a smile. Something wasn't right here...

"Let's all wish him well on his journey!" The voice called out, almost menacingly. 

"I've got a sinking feeli--" Oliver was cut off when he felt a trap door open beneath him, hurling him into a tunnel. Once his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he saw corpses were littered all around him. He took a step back in shock. 

"These aren't--Oh my god." 

Oliver covered his mouth as he tried to step over the corpses, trying to find a way out of the tunnel. He snagged a crowbar from one of the rotting bodies along the way, putting it in place of where a gun would be in his holster. He put the lead pipe from his fight with Knoblet in the other holster. While patting his way through the dark, he found a vent that was on top of a few crates. Using the crowbar, he pried it open and squeezed himself in the vent. With his shorter stature, it made it easier to fit. 

"I suppose that no one's not actively trying to kill me, I can use my time to find a moteline dispenser. The chap on the bridge said I'd need power cell, that and his medals." The more he thought about the veteran on the bridge, the more Oliver thought he made it sound like this happened every other week. He wondered how many times that veteran had his medals stolen by these charlatans. 

After a bit of climbing through vents, he found an exit and gently pushed open the grate. There he got a lovely sight of one of the Headboys taking a grand piss in a horribly dirty loo. Even better was that he was doing it on the floor. Do any of these people have any shame? 

Crouching low, Oliver snuck up behind the Headboy and wrapped his arms around his neck, quietly asphyxiating him to the point where he would be rendered unconscious. When he stopped gagging, Oliver let him rest on the floor, right in the puddle of urine. 

"Sweet dreams, piss bucket." 

With that, Oliver went over and picked the lock to get into the next room. He quietly opened the door to what looked like a barracks room. There were a few beds and bookshelves, probably used to separate the right side from the left. It was littered with an unnecessary amount of candles as well. The only thing that mattered to Oliver however was that there was a Headboy walking around the room. 

He waited until the right moment and snuck up behind him, taking him out the same way as the other one. 

Oliver, wanting to be courteous, laid him in one of the beds and went on his merry way. When Oliver reached the other room, he saw the moteline patch straight away. You can never miss that neon purple liquid. Though, the annoyance in his chest swelled like a balloon when he saw two more Headboys in the room, guarding the moteline. 

He crouched down low again and grabbed a few nearby liquor bottles that were resting on a box. Looking through the lead railways, raised the liquor bottle, aimed, and then flung it at an opening between the bookcases in the middle of the room. Oliver couldn't help but smirk when he saw one of the Headboys run towards the noise. It was just like trapping a mouse under a cardboard box. 

With the Headboy's back turned, Oliver snuck down the stairs, got behind him, and choked him out much the same. His heart pumping with adrenaline, he tracked the other down. This time, he wasn't so fortunate, as the Headboy saw him and shouted: "Who the fuck are you?" 

Before he could raise his weapon, however, Oliver took another liquor bottle with a startled grip and smashed the Headboy on the head with it, knocking him out. That was close. Too close. 

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he went over to the moteline patch and bent down, careful not to touch the toxic liquid, and scooped some of it into an empty powercell. He tried not to gag at the sickening stench coming from the moteline. 

"Moteline," He said through coughs. "Pure re-sublimated thiomoteline. The fuel of the future." 

He got out of the toxin infested air as soon as he could, going up the stairs through another locked door and immediately spotted the medals pinned to a mannequin in the corner. With finality, he took the pin out and pocketed them. 

"Thank God, finally. Now I can get the hell out of here." 

Opening the final door, he spotted the chest that the Headboys confiscated his stuff in. With a sigh of relief, Oliver opened the chest and deposited all his things back in his pockets and slipped on his satchel. After checking that everything was in order, he went up the ladder and climbed out of the bunker. 


	7. Conformity

As per usual, the adventure wasn't over yet. Oliver bit back a groan as he exited the bunker, finding himself in a kind of courtyard. He crouched, this time having the advantages of bushes to hide in. While crawling from bush to bush, he noticed that the courtyard swarmed with Headboys. He wouldn't be able to take any of them out without being seen. 

Fortunately, he saw a gate just a few yards ahead. Using the boxes and bushes as cover, he snuck over to the gate, which had a giant padlock on it. Oliver frantically dug in his pocket and pulled out the bobby pin he used last time and stuck it into the lock. Since he had no cover, he had to act fast. 

When he got the lock open, he heard a shout from behind him. He ripped open the gate and bolted out of it as fast as he could, still running even when he was well away from the Headboy camp. Eventually he felt safe enough, so he stopped in his tracks and rested his hands on his knees, panting profusely. 

He stayed like that until his breath eventually came to him. It was almost light out, the sun pushing up on the horizon. Oliver dusted himself off and went to go find the cathedral. Power cell in hand, he started walking.  _ "Jesus,  _ he thought.  _ "I hope no one ever has to go through that again." _

He kept trudging through the long grass until he found a cobblestone path littered with debris. Looking down it, he saw that this was the first populated neighborhood that he had come across in his endeavors. A wooden sign was posted into the ground just before the rows of decrepit houses began. It read in white paint: 

The Rules of the Garden District 

  1. DON'T STEAL. We have little enough as it is. 
  2. You're welcome to visit, but do be sociable and have a chat. There's a nice fellow. 
  3. SLEEP IN YOUR OWN BED. Remember Goldilocks? 
  4. You can eat any fruit you find **except** the fruit of the apple tree. 

The Bobbies will kill you. 

Oliver got a lump in his throat from the last sentence. Reluctantly, he started walking through the neighborhood until he spotted a corpse of a wellie that laid on the path next. to a sign that said: "Yes, we remember. No need to bloody remind us, the present is bad enough." 

"Christ almighty," Oliver gasped softly. He bent down and quickly searched the body before taking off from it. 

While walking down the street, he saw a person bent over one of the piles of rubble. When they got a glimpse of him, they squeaked and immediately ran away, dropping whatever they had in their hand. 

"It has occured to me that the locals may not be very friendly. Oh dear, let's try to not get killed." 

He came across a familiar statue of a war hero mounted on a horse in the center of a cul de sac. Oliver recognized this part of town at once, this was Edenham. He and his siblings would often try to climb up that statue when they were little. 

He went through the fence that was next to the statue and into the rest of the neighborhood, more people were in this part. Oliver waved in an approachable way, but no one else waved back. They just gawked at him and ran away. Suddenly Oliver began to feel more self aware. 

Oliver looked towards the spire that marked the cathedral he was supposed to meet the old veteran in, but before he could get there, he heard a sneer from behind him. 

"Come to kill us, Constable?" 

The prior constable whirled around, fear in his wide blue eyes when he saw some less skittish wastrels trying to gang up against him. More and more joined until there was a crowd against Oliver. 

"You gonna beat us with that baton of yours, bobby? Just for simply being hungry?" One of them jeered. 

Oliver's hand flew to his holster and reached for his lead pipe. That seemed to set them all to kill mode, as they soon pulled out their own weapons. 

"Psst!" A voice whispered. "Over here, unless you want to get thrashed!" 

He looked over and saw a woman waving at him from the church entrance. Oliver took his chances and bolted immediately for it, tripping over his own feet as the door of the church slammed behind him. 

The mob of unhappy wastrels roared outside the door, presumably trying to lure him back out. He trembled a little bit from the beatings on the door. 

"You're new around here, aren't you? From St. George," The woman said to him. 

"Y-Yes, how could you tell?" Oliver asked. 

"Hah. Yeah. I'll tell you how to survive the next few minutes and in return you give me your socks, okay?"

"Oh come on, that's outrageous!" 

"Your funeral." 

Oliver sighed and kicked off his boots. He slipped off his socks and gave them to the strange wastrel, putting his boots on afterwards. 

"Why're they so angry?" Oliver asked, immediately realizing what a stupid question that was. 

"Because that uniform you're wearing reminds them of all the bobbies who chased them outta their houses in the Village. Now we're all cold, tired, and starving to death. So you might as well ditch the uniform, get a nice sharp rock, and tear whatever else you're wearing to shreds." She replied bitterly. 

The only other thing he was wearing was a sweater that Charlotte gave him for his birthday. Somehow it managed to not get burned with all the rest of her things. "Do I really have to?" 

"Either that or they'll rip _you_ to shreds." 

"Shit," he breathed. "I don't remember there being as many now as there were the last time I came here." 

"Yeah, it's like the latest groovy nightclub, isn't it? People get a bad batch of Joy and it just flips a switch in them and suddenly, no more Joy for the rest of their lives. So"--she looked down at his stained uniform--"You guys kind of chased 'em out. There have been a lot of bad batches lately." 

"So what happens if I rip up my sweater, they'll invite me over for tea and biscuits?" 

"Then they won't really give a damn what you do. As long as you keep your hands off other people's things."

Just as Oliver was about to say something, she cut him off. 

"Well now you know how to survive the next five minutes. Toodles!" 

After giving him a pointed rock, she turned on her heel and walked off to a campfire next to the altar, leaving him in silence. He looked around the overgrown church before sitting down on one of the pews. There was a rather large hole in the roof, letting the light of dawn shine through like a ghostly beacon. 

He shed his uniform and draped it over the pew. Reluctantly, he took the rock and started tearing through the fabric of his sweater, his heart along with it. When he was done, you could clearly see the bloodstained fabric of the undershirt he wore underneath.

Feeling numb, he stood up and tried to find the old vet to give him his medals back, which he almost completely forgot about. The veteran was up near the altar, his arms crossed in impatience. 

"I got your medals," Oliver said and dug them out of his satchel, handing them over. 

"Thanks mate. You have no idea how much this means to me, to know that some of us fought, to know that I fought," he said passionately. "You were probably too young to remember...we stood tall in those days. In '42. We threw them back in the sea, but they came back in '43, and it just wasn't the same." 

"I hate to be a bother, but...the card? To get across the bridge?" 

"Right. Of course, forgive an old man his memories," He chuckled and tossed him the card. "Well, good luck." 

Oliver tipped his head in thanks and pocketed the card, going towards the doors of the church. However, when he opened them, the angry mob that once surrounded him was dispersed. They must have given up on him, not that Oliver minded in the slightest. 

He stayed out of sight as best he could while he walked out of the neighborhood, making the short trek to the bridge. When he got there, he opened the rotting maintenance door and placed the power cell into the clunky generator. It started to hum as if it was working, so he swiped the card the veteran gave him, which lit up the Detector Booth in place of the entrance. Oliver went through the maintenance door, and suddenly his stomach dropped. 

"Bloody hell, I'd forgotten about the revolvers. If I go through without taking my Joy, I'm gonna get spanked! I better run like hell when it lets me out."

Holding his breath, he pushed the button to operate the Revolver and stepped in, holding his hands up as the detector swung around him. It howled in disapproval when it detected no Joy in his system. When the panel opened, Oliver bolted out before it could electrocute him. He kept running until he saw an archway a ways ahead of him. Slowing his run to a walk, he heard the brief sound of metal scraping against metal. But instead of clutching his hair or clamping his eyes shut, he just stared numbly at the arch. 

"This is where we hanged them, isn't it?" He whispered. "They broke into the police station, tried to burn the register, so the Germans wouldn't know what kids to take. We didn't want the Germans to be angry with us, did we? So we hanged them as a warning. I wonder if we'd made the Germans take the kids by force instead of bringing them to the station singing 'Ring Around the Rosie' if things would be better. Mom never told us why they were hanged, but we figured it out..." 

When he got under the archway, it was just too much. He could see their limp bodies hanging from the stone pikes. Keeling, he ran to the cliff's edge and lost what little lunch he had over it.

He wiped his mouth and looked back over his shoulder, but they were gone. Everything was silent except the thoughts swirling around in his head. 

"I hope that's the worst thing I remember...says the chap heading to the train station." He sighed. 

Through the archway he could see the train station even from where he was standing. It stood out like a sore thumb against the rest of the rolling hills and trees that was the Garden District. Trying to muster up some bravery, he walked under the archway and began his journey to see if his theory of the tracks was correct. 


	8. A Lost Lamb

Oliver got to the train station by the afternoon, it was a much farther walk than it looked. It stood like Notre Dame in the Garden District, serving as a beacon of awful memories. His gut twisted up just looking at it. It looks like it's been modified by the wastrels in the area, though. It had fences and barbed wire that wasn't there before. Like the Headboy camp, it seemed pretty well buttoned up, so Oliver stalked around the huge train station, searching for a hole in the chain link he could crawl through. 

Eventually, he found it. He crawled through it and immediately dove into the bushes when he saw Headboys lurking in the courtyard. What were they doing here? 

He waited until they seemed pretty spread out and crawled out from the bush, sneaking up the make-shift wooden raft that lead up to a hole in the side of the train station. He made a mistake when he stood up to climb up a shelf, since one of the headboys saw him. Once Oliver heard the shout, he scrambled up the shelf and flung himself at the iron rafters that held the chandelier above the main lobby of the train station. Clinging to the rafters for dear life, he tried desperately to balance himself so he could walk across the beams.

He came across an area that lead into the room next to the lobby, but he would have to jump to make it there. Oliver held his breath and made the jump, just barely making it. Adrenaline pushed through his veins as he crawled through the hole in the wall, making it to another set of wooden beams over a sickening fall. Whoever built these clearly marked this train station as their territory. 

While sneaking through the rafters, he couldn't help but over hear a conversation from the Headboys bellow him. 

"We should have brought another bomb," One of them said. 

"Well we don't have another bomb, do we?" The other snapped. 

"There has to be a way in, I mean, _ he _ got in!" 

Oliver gulped at the mention of a bomb and climbed down the rafters, landing with a seemingly loud "plop" on the ramp bellow. He froze. 

"What was that?" The first one said. 

"It's just a rat, come on, let's go." 

There was a sound of footsteps, and then silence. He took the silence as them having left, so he quickly made his way to a doorway that was blocked off by a few wooden planks. He took the crowbar from his right holster and began prying off the planks, paranoia catching in his throat from the loudness of it. 

He ducked through the doorway once he was done, but stopped when he heard a creaking sound bellow him. Before he could even react, the wooden floor caved beneath him and he fell a sickening fall, his surprised yelp echoing around him before he collided with the marble floor. 

_ "Ollie, I lied for you today!" Lee exclaimed. _

"_ That's not good, Lee, you're awful at it," Oliver tried to shush him. _

_ "I was a great liar today!" _

_ "Who on Earth would believe your lie?" _

_ "Ms. Moors." _

_ Oliver stopped trying to shush him for a moment. "Ms. Moors came here?" _

_ "Her eyes were scary, Ollie...like real angry scary. And I thought _ you _ would ask why she was angry." _

_ "Okay, why was she angry?" _

_ "She was angry because you were up in the really fat tree next to Wolfgang Moors's window last night!" Lee giggled. _

_ "Oh God...what exactly did you say?" _

_ "I told her it was me in the tree." Lee said, as if he was the best problem solver in the world. _

_ "Lee!" Oliver groaned. "Why would you say that?" _

_ "She was going to rat you out for being a...a..." Lee stumbled on his words. "A 'fairy', but since I'm only six, she told me not to do it again." _

_ "You..you didn't have to do that for me," Oliver said in surprise. "Thank you." _

_ "I love you, Ollie." _

_ "I love you too, but do me a favor." _

_ "Mhm?" _

_ "Don't say the word 'fairy' like that." _

His eyes suddenly snapped open. Oliver rolled over onto his shoulder to get up, but he came face to face with the glazed eyes of a corpse. He jolted up, fear hammering in his chest when he remembered what happened. The floor caved in and he fell, but it looked like he wasn't the only one who took this fall. 

He dusted himself off and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness. There was a flashlight lying on the floor, sending a beam of light right through an open door. Must've been the body's flashlight. 

Oliver walked over and grabbed the flashlight, shining it around to get acquainted with where he was. The light from his flashlight caught a note that was posted to the wall. Curiously, Oliver went to it and took it off the wall, but immediately regretted it. This was one of the registrations from the occupation. 

Jeffery Alexander 2 May, 1944

Michael Anderson 25 Dec, 1943

Katherine Bester 3 Dec, 1943

<strike>Charlotte Bondarev 25 Jan, 1943</strike>

Lee Bondarev 25 Jan, 1943

<strike>Ollivander Bondarev 25 Jan, 1943</strike>

<strike>Anne Boyle 22 Nov, 1944</strike>

<strike>Elizabeth Boyle 29, Feb 1944</strike>

Albert Bradbury 18 May, 1945

Johnathon Brahms 21 May, 1943

Stephen Buck 8 August, 1946

...

Oliver didn't read anymore of it once he saw his siblings names on there. He crumpled up the paper, and tossed it across the room. In silence, he gripped his flashlight tighter and went to explore more of the caverns. He went through the maintenance door and found a bunch of old and very small clothes lying in the corner of it. Next to a mattress was a stack of papers. Oliver, curiosity getting the best of him as always, flipped through them. 

Dear darling Evelyn,

What a brave girl you are! Daddy says you got on the train and climbed out the back into the tunnel just like we practiced. We were so worried when we saw the train pull away! What if the windows had been locked? It was agony waiting to know if you were safe. 

Daddy says you're cross with him for not coming earlier, but please understand. It's too risky, especially on days when he can "inspect the tracks". 

Daddy will bring you food every Tuesday. Try to make it last, we don't have ration stamps for you anymore, but I need to reduce anyways. 

Courage my fair lady! 

Love,

Mummy

P.S. I've asked Daddy to smuggle Patricia to you. I know you're too big to sleep with a teddy bear, but I thought it would be good to have the comfort of home, no? 

Evelyn, we are so worried! 

Daddy says you weren't in your hidey-hole on Tuesday and you hadn't eaten your rations. This is no time to be a picky eater! Where did you go? You know it's dangerous to be out there by yourself. Please be a good girl and don't scare us like that! At least leave us a note to let us know that you're safe. 

Love, 

Mummy

"This must have been the girl's hide out. I wonder what happened to her," Oliver said 

With that, he left the room and went to go find an exit to the tracks. He found it in the next room as a trackside door. Oliver grabbed the handle on a mechanical wheel and spun it, which powered the shutter over the door as it slid up. He went through the door and out to the train station platform. All at once, memories flooded back to him as well as the laughing sound of the train whistle. For a few moments, he just stood there, looking out at the tracks. Involuntary tears pooled in the creases of his eyes. 

"I'm so sorry, Lee. We should have gotten on the train with with you, like we promised. The rule was if a kid was a day over thirteen, what could you do?" Suddenly, his tone darkened. "You could have kept your damn mouth shut, Oliver, that's what you could have done. Not tell them that you and your sister were already thirteen." 

Tears of self hatred rolled down his cheeks as he padded through the tracks, climbing over debris and other miscellaneous junk to get to the other side of the track. The face of the officer that he told about the dates flashed in his mind as the shrieks of his brother echoed and rattled in his head. 

"Bloody bobby. I told him I wanted to board even if I was ten days too old, but 'we don't make the rules anymore, Mr. Bondarev,'" He sighed and fisted his hand into his hair. "I shouldn't have told him they got our birthdays wrong. I should have just kept quiet and got on the damn train." 

The heels of his boots clacked against the metal in the tracks, adding one more sound to the cesspool that was raving in Oliver's head. Eventually, he stopped his pace when he reached a dead end in the tracks. Rocks pilled up to the top of the tunnel, blocking anything going in or out of it. 

"There must've been some sort of cave in. So much for walking to the Britannia bridge," He mentally cursed himself and put his head in his hands, tears staining his skin. "Well what the fuck do I do now?"

"Oh look! It's a little lost lamb," A booming voice cooed from behind him. 

Oliver whirled around to see a gang of Headboys coming towards him. The lights from their stolen bobby helmets danced across the tunnel walls, as if mocking him. 

"Where's Bo Peep?" One of them asked in a condescending tone, making Oliver feel like the size of an ant. 

"Eating her curds and whey I bet!" The other said and barked in laughter. 

"That's Little Miss Muffet, you muppet!" 

"What-fucking-ever. Can we pound him now?" 

"Yep." 

And just like that, they unsheathed their weapons and descended on Oliver like a horde of vultures. He whipped out his lead pipe, which harshly connected with a weapon of the same, making him stagger back from the unexpected force. Somehow, a Headboy snuck behind him and wrapped his arm around Oliver's throat, asphyxiating him like he'd done to multiple other people before. Oliver choked and gagged harshly, immediately dropping his lead pipe to claw at the Headboy's arm. 

One cackled in the back as the other brought out his shovel to presumably make the ending strike. However, before that could happen, Oliver got an idea. It was a stretch, but it was worth it. 

"S'yesh moyu zadnitsu suka!" He choked out in the best Russian accent he could muster. 

The one in front of him dropped his shovel immediately. He looked surprised at the other, who stopped laughing and gawked at Oliver with wide eyes. 

"The bastard's a Rusky!" The Headboy before him said with a quivering voice as the one behind Oliver let go of his throat. 

"Are you here to help us--" The one who released him started, but before he got to finish his sentence, Oliver let out a throaty screech and clobbered him over the head with the crowbar in his holster. He was dead before he hit the ground. 

The two remaining shouted in surprise and immediately fled the scene, not wanting to stay and fight him any longer. 

His chest heaved and he sheathed the blood splattered crowbar. "Will people stop trying to fucking kill me for two seconds?" 

Oliver growled and went up the stairs next to the cave-in, slamming the rotting door behind him out of pure anger. He didn't even stop to look at his surroundings as he opened the double door in the room, just wanting to get out of the train station at that point. 

What greeted him was a vast, mostly empty room with a few tables and chairs filled with random junk and food. British flags hung from the ceiling as well as streamers. Construction and scaffolding surrounded the walls. Clearly who lived here has been living here for a very long time. 

Although, something stuck out to him more than any of this, however. A man with long, wheat colored hair was looting one of the tables, pushing various items into a burlap sack with greedy speed. The man's features were sharp and fox-like, even though some of it was covered by a scruffy, untrimmed beard. He was familiar, eerily familiar...then it hit Oliver. 

_ "Bloody hell, that's Gaius!" _


	9. Gaius

Oliver's thoughts raced when he recognized the man hunched over the table. When Gaius turned around, Oliver jumped out from behind the pillar and he called out, "Gaius!" 

Gaius's features morphed into those of shock and rage and he immediately grabbed a rather nastily modified cricket bat. "Come fer me have ya!" 

"Gaius, it's me, Oliver!" Oliver put his hands up and backed up, clearly not expecting this reaction. 

"You won't get me! You won't get me ya bastards!" Gaius shouted and lunged for him. 

Oliver dodged his attack, the bat making a "crack" against the floor. "Gaius, no! It's Oliver!" 

His rage only ignited even more. "Yeh bloody murdering wastrels!" 

Gaius swung at him again and Oliver jumped back, nearly falling over. "Have you gone mental!" 

"Stand back Evelyn!" Gaius nearly screeched and brought the bat down again, but Oliver caught it just in time. 

"I'm your old neighbor, Ollie! Little Ollie!" 

"Yer always fuckin' lying! Ollie's gone, they took him away!" Gaius growled and ripped the cricket bat out of his hands. 

"No they didn't!" 

"You're lying, yer a wastrel!" Once again, another swing, but this time it knocked Oliver back, falling flat on his back. 

"Gaius, it's Oliver!" He said and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for impact to come, but it didn't. 

Gaius stopped, recognition finally showing in his eyes. "Well why didn't yeh fuckin' say that before?" 

Oliver groaned and got up, popping his back from the impact. He bent over, hands on his knees and panting. 

"My god, Ollie! Little Ollie!" Gaius exclaimed, none of that rage there anymore. 

"Yeah, for fuck's sake." Oliver sniped, maybe too bitterly. 

"Watch yer mouth, lad! What would yer pops think? I seriously thought they took you away." 

"No, they had my birthday wrong." 

Gaius looked away from him and looked down near the ground. "What? No, of course not!" 

"I'm sorry?" Oliver asked, clearly confused. 

"It was me who took yeh in! I tried to save ya.." Gaius said, appearing like he was talking to himself. 

"Er...right." Oliver said sarcastically. 

Gaius looked back up at him, ignoring that like it was just normality. "I remember now. Yeh came back from the station...the only one from that registration." His Irish accent trembled. 

"You don't think they hurt him...Lee, I mean?" 

"The Germans aren't animals, yeh know. They just wanted to make sure we'd stay quiet. And we did. Spot of tea?" He said the end part quite chipperly, dementedly chipper. 

"Thanks, but I'm not thirsty," Oliver lied. In fact, he was quite thirsty. 

Gaius looked over to the right of him and laughed. "That's right, Eve, we have to run after water!" 

Oliver ignored the abnormality and said, "I have to find him." 

His prior neighbor turned to him, uncertainty in his eyes. "Any idea where he'd be after all these years?" 

"Not really..." Oliver said, a little embarrassed. "But I know I have to get out of Wellington Wells. I thought I could take the tracks to the bridge, but..." 

"Aye. The only way out of Wellington Wells is the train station in the Parade. And good luck getting to the parade," Then, Gaius completely changed the subject. "Remember when you, your siblings, and Wolfgang used to stay with me? When the"--He paused and looked to the right again. "But it's young Ollie! Not to be confused with  _ old _ Ollie...mind you...Eve, yeh remember Ollie, don't you?" Silence. "No room in the cellar for ol' Ollie?" More silence. "No...yer right, yer always right." 

Gaius looked back at him, a little bit of disappointment in his eyes. "Sorry. Evelyn says it's best if I keep to myself." 

"Oh. Sorry to bother?" Oliver said, a little confused.

"But...Evelyn also thinks we could help each other."

"Really? Brilliant!" Oliver said in relief. 

"There's a warehouse in the old German Victory Memorial Camp. We could burgle it before that ol' coot Ollie Starkey does!" 

Oliver's voice faltered. "The Victory Memorial Camp? Where all those Home Army chaps practice stabbing people with their bayonets? What do you want me to do there, run around and shout: 'here I am, stab me!' while you go under the wire?" 

"There's...something I need from their warehouse. I know ol' Ollie Starkey needs it too. If you help me, I'll get you out of Wellington Wells. I just need you to turn off the power in the camp." 

"And this isn't going to get me killed?" 

"Stop being a great girl's blouse! I'll meet you in the bunker after dark. Don't worry about the sentries on the bridge, I'll make sure they get a good night's sleep. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." Gaius snickered with a smirk.

However, before Gaius could walk off, Oliver stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What's your deal with Ollie Starkey anyways?" He asked, honestly curious. 

Gaius chuckled and slid Oliver's hand off him. "He and I go back. We never quite liked each other--" He cut himself off and looked around frantically when he heard shouting from the same floor they were on. 

"What's that--" Oliver started before he was shushed. 

"We might want to get out of here," Gaius whispered as he pushed him towards a closed off doorway.

"What do you mean? Hold on, do you even live here?"

"Of course I fuckin' don't! This is ol' Ollie's place. Now get on the platform before I leave yeh here." 

At this point, Oliver wasn't even surprised with Gaius. With a groan, he got on the platform with him. The Irish man pulled down on the lever next to it, which opened a heavy, screeching metal door that lead to the outside of the train station. Gaius pushed Oliver out of it and then jumped out himself, the doorway slamming down behind them with a "clang". 

Oliver brushed himself off before turning to give Gaius an ear-full, but before he could say anything, the Irish man shoved a bunch of papers in his hand and ran off. Raising an eyebrow, he looked down and found a map of the Garden District in his hand. A large X was marked near a group of trees. That was about the only helpful thing Gaius did for him at the moment. 

"He's definitely changed over the years. Then again, what hasn't changed?" He sighed. 

* * *

_"Come on, Ollie, yer overreacting!" Gaius called to the relentless Oliver. _

_Oliver, who was shaking with both rage and the desire to wet himself, clung tightly to the branches of the tree. He was not coming down anytime soon. _

_"No, I'm not! This is a perfectly normal reaction!" Oliver shouted back down at the Irish man. _

_Gaius sighed and looked away for a second before turning his gaze back to the shaking child. _

_"Look, maybe Germany isn't all that bad. Think about it, they've got cows an' chocolate!" He said. _

_"Oh yeah, chocolate makes _everything _better!" Oliver snarked. _

_Gaius shrugged and said, "Fine, so be it. What'll you tell yer brother an' sister?" _

_Oliver paused, then sighed, his muscles loosening. "Fine...I guess you're right." _

_"Atta boy!" Gaius replied, chuckling. _

_The child was about to come down, but caught himself when he realized how far he climbed up the tree. _

_"Um...I think I might be a bit stuck." _


	10. Band of Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the lack of updates in the past four months. Something unfortunate happened so I wasn't able to update. Thank you for 100 hits! It means a lot :).

It was dark out when Oliver got to the bridge to the Victory Memorial Camp. Even though it was just a bunch of old loonies running it, he still couldn't help but be intimidated by its professional woodwork. Someone had actually put funding into this. 

He went up to the registration desk, but the vet behind it was out like a light. Gaius's work, no doubt. Passing the offices, everyone in them was either too drunk to notice him or dead asleep. 

Even though the camp was professionally built, there were papers strewn all over the floor and even vomit splattered on it. How charming. 

When he got to the gate, he saw there was a vet asleep in a chair, cradling his bayonet like it was his first born child. Oliver thought that he could quietly sneak past him, but he was nearly scared out of his skin when the vet jolted from his chair. 

"No fucking civilians! I'll have to...kill you...now.." He groaned and fell over into a puddle of his own bile, out cold. 

"Christ, I'd better not let anyone see me out of uniform," Oliver breathed. 

He went through the chain-link gate and was greeted with the foreboding feeling of the Victory Memorial Camp. Right near the actual entrance to the camp, which Oliver assumed was an obvious invitation to get skewered, was a sign that pointed left with "bunker" written on it. 

He followed the trail, allowing his thoughts to wander as he stalked around the perimeter of the camp. Seeing Gaius again was not the way he had pictured it, he was no longer the kind-hearted man who offered to his family and Wolfgang stay over when food was short. He was a whole different person now. Oliver kind of missed the past Gaius. 

Eventually, he reached the bunker and climbed up the steps to the dreary place. It was strangely cold and barren, with only a bed and a desk with a bunch of maps on it. Gaius stood in the middle, his arms crossed, looking out over the camp through the slit provided. Oliver walked up next to him. 

"Do you ever wonder why the Germans didn't take their tanks with them when they left?" 

"I've got a map," Gaius said, ignoring Oliver. "There's a hole in the fence inside the dump, you just have to get in here, get the key, and cut the power. Then, sneak out into the darkness while I rob them blind! Easy peasy lemon squeezy." 

"And how do I cut the power?" 

"The General keeps his keys in his desk." 

Oliver looked at him, bewildered. "You want me to break into the General's office?" 

"Any way you can scotch the power is fine by me, laddie," Gaius put his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I'll meet you back at the place I marked on yer map." 

"Wait! What if they spot me?" Oliver called after him as he walked off. 

"I'd run. They might have no ammunition, but they're pretty handy with their bayonets!" 

" _ That _ is your plan B? Run?" 

"Well, you could ask them for their famous hot butter crumpets but I wouldn't fuckin' recommend it. They can't run very fast, they're all old farts like ol' Ollie."

Without even giving Oliver any time to respond, Gaius scampered off, like a wild cat hunting its prey. Oliver sighed in annoyance, but seeing as he had no other choice, he grabbed the map off the table and examined it. It was crudely drawn, but he could just barely make out what it was trying to convey. After he made sure it was firmly etched in his mind, he folded it up and slipped it into his pocket. 

Before he left, he looked out the slit in the bunker himself, tanks staring him in the face. He should hate those tanks, but for some strange reason, they made him fuzzy with nostalgia. Charlotte, Wolfgang, and he used to go out past curfew and stare at them. It was a weird bonding moment for all of them, sharing their child-like terror over those ominous machines. 

"There's a chance I'm going to get myself killed," Oliver said to himself. "I haven't had an adventure like this since Wolfgang fucked off. Where has he been all this time?" 

Oliver turned away from the tanks. "I used to think I'd run into him. He probably has a Defender of his own now, a boy like him always had admirers around every corner."

He scowled at the thought, not wanting to think of Wolfgang anymore. With jealousy coursing through him like bile, he exited the bunker and made his way towards the spot on the possibly stolen map. When he got there, it was cluttered and damp, like a bog. There were sandbags with barbed wire littering the proximity of the dump, making it difficult to notice the hole in the fence above one of the roofs. 

His boots making a squelching sound in the damp grass while he b-lined for the fence, but something caught his eye. A water pump. All at once, his throat turned to sandpaper, he hadn't realized how thirsty he was until desperation filled his movements. He pulled down on the rusty pump and drank until water drenched his hair. 

After he got his fill, he wiped his sopping wet face, feeling significantly better and replenished. He climbed atop the roof over the water pump and balanced himself on its trim. The view provided was eerie and beautiful at the same time. The tanks were under him, pointed at the window of the bunker as search lights from the watch towers lit up the night sky. He was taken aback by the sight until one of the lights stopped and blinded him. 

Oliver covered his eyes and lost his balance, taking a tumble towards one of the tanks. He expected a metal clang and a concussion, but all he got was the shred of paper and the thump of his own body on the ground. Dizzy, he looked up and was greeted with plywood and--

"Paper-mache?" Oliver whispered. He reached up and clawed at one of the scraps hanging loose from the hole he made in the top. Sure enough, it was all glue and liquid newspaper. All he could see after that was red. 

"We took all the kids to the train station. We sent them off to Germany because of paper-mache!" He huffed in rage. "We never rose up because of fake tanks. We gave them the kids because of fucking plywood tanks." 

Oliver crumpled up the scrap and threw it behind him as he climbed out of the fake tank. Making his way out of the graveyard of plywood as fast as he could, all cognitive thought destroyed by the revelation. Just narrowly avoiding the searchlight, he dove into the row of bushes that lined the walks and crawled through them, still careful enough to avoid the light. Elderly men in carefully tailored uniforms walked past him, their masks giving them shit-eating grins. 

It felt like hours of crawling through bushes through the massive military camp. He felt the pressure in his chest rise until he saw a cabin with a sign that said "General's office". Without thinking, Oliver bolted towards it, almost slamming into a soldier losing his lunch into the rosebush near the door. He came screeching to a halt just behind him. Luckily, the soldier was either too drunk to see Oliver or couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own yakking. Holding his breath, Oliver crouched down and went over to the door, trying to pick the lock frantically. 

"Oi!" He heard from behind him. Just like that, the lock clicked and he threw himself through the door, locking it before they could get one foot through it. Oliver attached himself bellow the window, his heart thumping to the rhythm of the beating on the door. Eventually, he heard another voice join the drunk soldier. 

"The fuck are you doing, beating on the General's door like that? He's not even here." 

"There's someone in there!" 

"Oh really?" 

Oliver saw a shadow fill in through the window, darkening the floor in front of him. He stood stock still, one wrong move, and he was dead. 

"You drunk again?" 

"Not at all sir--" 

"Then quit bashing down the general's door and get back to your post, or I’ll throw your sorry ass in the brig." 

"Aye sir." 

Silence after that. A few moments later, Oliver decided it was safe to move and got out of his crouching position. Looking around the almost cozy cabin, he found the General's desk in the middle of the room. Seeing as it wasn't locked, he dug through its drawers, but found nothing. 

"The keys are in his desk, yeah? I'll think twice before trusting Gaius again." 

He closed the drawers and scouted around, pillaging as much of the filing cabinets as he could without leaving the room bare. While scouring the General's sleeping quarters, he got a rather odd sensation about the painting over the cot. He carefully took the painting off the hook, and found a piece of piano sheet music tacked to the wall. 

"Note, chord, note...maybe I should try it. I guess Wolfgang's 'piano lessons' will finally pay off." 

The upright piano in the corner of the room was dusty and out of tune. He took a seat on the bench and began to butcher the sheet music. Even if the piano was in tune, it would still kill within a five mile radius. Terrible or not, it seemed to work. The bookcase across from the piano slid on its gears and revealed a room behind it, a key taped to the center of the wall. A hatch was to the left of it. 

"If this leads underground like the others, I can use to it get out of here when I'm done." 

Oliver pulled out his map again and found the generator marked on the map. He'd have to go through the training grounds to get to the powerhouse. Groaning slightly, he stuffed the map back in his pocket and exited the General's cabin through the back, making his way towards the power generator. 

The training grounds was right in the middle of the camp, it wasn't exactly hard to miss either. There were still people training vigorously there, even though it was late in the night. Just looking at them made him remember why he never wanted to join the military. If the police academy wore him out, he couldn't imagine what boot camp would be like. However, in a way, he couldn't help but admire their dedication. Even if the Germans probably weren't coming back. 

Scarpering from the training grounds, he found himself near the powerhouse. To make sure he didn't collide with any drunk soldiers, he hid behind a bush to properly scope it out. It was strangely unguarded, which didn't make any sense, since it was the source of all power to the camp. Hesitantly, he made his way through the door and was faced with the generator. He went to pull down the switches that read green, but stopped himself halfway through. This was too easy. 

He looked around the powerhouse, making sure no one was hiding behind anything and getting ready to bayonet him. Finally, he exhaled sharply and pulled down on all four switches. 

Each unit burnt out one by one, until the camp was dark and no search lights shone through the window anymore. Oliver kept his posture rigid for a few seconds before relaxing. Nothing jumped out at him, the world didn't end. All was silent. 

Until everything in the powerhouse shone red and an alarm shrieked over the camp.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Gaius!" 

_"Attention all personnel, the intruder should be captured alive if possible. It is _not_ necessary to capture him unharmed."_

"I'll bet he knew it was alarmed. I bet he bloody knew!" He fumed.

Oliver ripped open the door to find everyone marching down the square, on a merry chase for him. He knew he wouldn't be able to sneak through this. Then, he remembered Gaius's plan B. Run. 

He took off, tearing down through the units and making a mad dash towards the general's secret hatch. "Infiltrator!" The soldiers shouted at him as they pursued him. Oliver knew that he could run circles around them, however. They were much too slow. 

After not too long, he made it to the cabin, his pursuers behind him. He threw open the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. Locking the door hastily, he knocked over a filing cabinet and pushed it in front of the door, using it as a barricade. Knowing that will give him a bit of time, he entered the room behind the bookcase and climbed down the hatch. 

When he emerged out the other end, he found himself near the bunker. He could still hear the shrieking alarm from inside the camp, reminding him of what he barely escaped. Oliver ran his fingers through his hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly as adrenaline still pumped through his chest. 

Then recollection struck him. 

"Paper mache tanks. Newspaper and fucking glue." 

He pursed his lips, not wanting to waste his energy on weeping. "Right. Now if I can make it back to Gaius alive, he'll help me hit the road. Assuming that wasn't a lie. That won't be an awkward conversation at all, will it?" 

Growling, he trudged through the bog and back over the bridge, exiting the Victory Memorial Camp with his tail between his legs and a desire to rip Gaius to shreds. 


	11. Adieu

Oliver was about ready to collapse due to exhaustion when he arrived at the place marked on his map. Dawn was about ready to arrive in the world of the Garden District, marking another sleepless night for Oliver. He could've snuck into an abandoned house and slept there for the night, but his desire to escape out-ruled his need to sleep according to his logic. 

The place was what looked like a wine cellar surrounded by a group of trees. Sensing nothing of immediate danger, Oliver walked towards the wooden door. As soon as he stepped forward he was knocked back by a sudden explosion, sending dirt flying everywhere. Oliver cursed and landed flat on his back, a searing pain emitting from his leg. He couldn't hold back the slew of curses that erupted from him, feeling wave after wave of pain coursing through him. 

The door to the cellar flew open and there was Gaius, standing there in a fighting position with the same nastily modified cricket bat that he tried to clobber Oliver with last time. When he saw that it was Oliver writhing around on the ground in pain, he dropped his stance and carefully stepped through the grass, avoiding anymore of his own traps. He knelt down near Oliver and slung his arm around him, helping him up. 

"Land mines? Are you fucking serious?" Oliver growled, biting back a curse from the pain of standing up. 

"Sorry 'bout that, forgot to tell yeh 'bout 'em." Gaius said as he helped Oliver toward the door, guiding him through the minefield. 

"Mind the trip-wire in the door," He warned Oliver once they got to the door and helped him step over it. 

"Good god, how many traps do you have?" 

"Well, I need ta keep the wastrels out somehow." 

They went down the stairs in the cellar and Oliver was met by a cluttered mess. A table was set up in the center with a small bed in the corner, amongst those were various amounts of clutter lying around the almost bunker-like cellar. Probably due to all the places he'd raided, Oliver assumed. 

Gaius sat him down on the edge of the bed and pulled up a chair for himself to sit down on. 

"Here, I'll bandage ya up, lad," Gaius said and gestured him to prop his leg up on Gaius's knee. 

Oliver, a bit taken aback by the hospitality, complied. He had expected Gaius to just let him limp through the Garden District. Instead, he took out a bundle of bandages and carefully rolled up Oliver's trousers. The other man hissed when he felt the cold air touch the wound. 

Gaius took the bandage and began wrapping it around Oliver's calf, making sure that it all laid flat on the wound, not doubling over. While Gaius worked, silence passed between them. Not awkward, but strangely comfortable. A few moments passed of this silence, before Gaius spoke up. 

"Ya know, when I saw yeh yesterday at the bunker, everything came back to me." 

"How so?" Oliver asked, a bit intrigued.

"Yeh were just a wee lad, I remember you and yer siblings would pass my door everyday. All of yeh made such a bloody racket! Feet stompin' around at all hours of the morning. Yeh were lovely. I remember the day when Wolfgang was added to the mix..."

Oliver grimaced at the mention of Wolfgang. Everything eventually came back to him, didn't it? 

Gaius began laughing. "I--" he broke off into chuckles, "I remember when you four would wreck my house! Even a polite fellow such as Wolfgang! Like that time you put that big ol' rat in my toilet...nearly gave me cardiac arrest!" 

That earned a soft chuckle from Oliver, who was actually receiving pleasant memories for the first time in weeks. 

"A-and the time me and the gang blew up your fence with that horribly built rocket!"He giggled. "You had us fixing it for weeks! " Both men were in hysterics. Oliver wiped tears of laughter from the creases of his eyes. It was the first time he smiled from his own emotions in months. 

After a few moments of merriment, Gaius's eyes fell, as if he remembered something. "I also remember when you and Lee'd show up...poor lad."

Yet, he managed a faint smile. "You two would come scarpering back from school and show up at my door. Yeh probably don't remember that much about Lee...huh?" 

Oliver averted his eyes and shook his head. Lee had been the one thing Joy made him forget the most. 

"He was such a smart lad...wouldn't speak to anyone but you an' Charlotte. You two'd always come to me for help when he got in a bit of trouble at school...wee lad was too scared to tell his father he'd been caned for not being able to remember what the hallways looked like."

Oliver let out a sad chuckle as more tears began to form in the creases of his eyes again. But it was a different kind this time. 

Gaius bandaged the last of his calf and stood up, letting Oliver's leg slip from his knee. "That should 'bout do it." 

Then he turned away from Oliver, directing his attention towards the table in the center. There, several cans of V-meat sat, along with a Molotov cocktail and other useful things. Gaius turned back to Oliver and grinned a crooked smile.

"Well that's a fair bit o' Christmas there, isn't it?" He said excitedly, almost as if he forgot about the tender moment they both shared.

Oliver remembered the Victory Memorial Camp when he saw the stash. Particularly about how Gaius lied to him. 

"Did you know the power switch was alarmed?" Oliver asked accusingly. 

Gaius leaned on the table, ignoring Oliver. "They're all quite mad, y'know? It's almost like they want the Germans to come back." 

Oliver stood up and masked the pain in his calf when he inched closer to Gaius. _"Did you know the power switch was alarmed?"_

"It's the shame of it, you see? They want another go!" 

At that point, Oliver had enough. "You bloody knew!" 

"How would I have known that? For fuck's sake, Ollie, times are hard but you an' I go back a ways." 

"The tanks were hollow, Gaius!" Oliver took a piece of paper mache out of his pocket and shoved it into Gaius's hands. 

"The fuck's that?" 

"It's tank armor! The tanks, they're made of paper mache." 

Gaius stared at the shred of paper, something unreadable in his eyes.

"We could've fought them, Gaius! They didn't really have any god damn tanks!" Oliver kept on ranting, his face turning red from the constant word flow. 

Gaius ran his hands through his unkempt hair, his trembling hands still holding onto the shred of "tank armor". He whispered quietly, "No...we would've risen up..." 

That didn't deter Oliver from his rant one bit. He just kept going. "I wouldn't have had to lie my way off that fucking train!" 

As soon as those words left his lips, he felt something shatter inside him. The train screeching on its tracks echoed in his mind, along with the screams of his brother. Oliver dropped his hands to his sides, realizing what he just said and what he did all those years ago. 

"I lied my way off that train," He whispered. "Me and Charlotte weren't too old to go." 

Oliver turned his head to look at Gaius, who hadn't listened to a word he said and was instead staring at the paper, muttering to himself. He pointed at nothing and said, his voice wavering, "You don't forget a thing like that." 

Oliver put his hand on Gaius's shoulder and said, "Didn't you hear me? I convinced the Germans they had mine and Charlotte's birthday's wrong. I even forced her to lie with me." 

The train sounds became unbearably loud. To the point where they rattled in his skull. He shut his eyes and turned away from Gaius. "If it were only me I'd take my happy pills and sleep until the end of the world. But we promised. We promised we'd keep Lee safe in Germany. And Charlotte's..." 

He started realizing what he was saying and immediately shut himself down. He turned to Gaius again. "You promised to help me get to the bridge." 

As soon as he said that, Gaius, tilted back and let out a bark of laughter, the haunted look on his face replaced with disbelief. "The one in the Parade? On Apple Holm? And how the hell would you even get there? Ya can't even get to Maidenholm. They shut the bridge down last week." 

Before Oliver could blow up a second time, Gaius stared at nothing, his facial expression changing. "No. Yer right. Yer always right." 

Gaius bent down and pulled a crate out from underneath the table. He pulled out a strange, wand-like contraption. "Ever seen one of these?" 

"What does it do?" Oliver asked, confused. 

"I have no fucking clue. But, suppose you took it to the bridge on Maidenholm. Suppose you were there to fix the bridge works, maybe that'll enhance your credibility." 

"And from Maidenholm...I could get to Apple Holm," Oliver said, realizing what Gaius was hinting at. 

"And Apple Holm has the only bridge out of Wellington Wells. See? Easy peasy lemon squeazy."

"Well...see you on the other side," Oliver said and stuck out his hand, expecting an exchange of good luck. 

Gaius looked at his hand, but didn't shake it, he just placed the contraption in Oliver's hand.

"I rather doubt that. Adieu, Ollie," He rested his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Good luck." 

Oliver nodded to him thankfully and ascended up the staircase, putting the wand-shaped contraption into his satchel with all his other things. He went out the cellar door and shut it carefully. And with that, he went off to do what he did best. 

Lie. 


	12. Oh, Behave!

Oliver's heart was threatening to burst out of his chest when he got to the Salamanca Bridge. The front half of the facility was shaped like a heart, however after years of neglect it had cracks down the center, eroding it into a broken heart. Much like the state of Wellington Wells. Oliver swallowed his anxiety and went up the cracked steps, clearly no one had cleaned this place in a very long time. 

He went up to the glass where a constable sat at a desk, a stack of papers piled high and his cheek resting on his palm, fast asleep. Oliver rolled his eyes at his former comrade and tapped loudly on the glass. The constable jolted from his sleep and stiffened his posture, a horrendous grin stretching itself across his face. Although the look in his eyes said he was anything but happy to see him. 

"Lovely day for it!" The constable exclaimed with plastic enthusiasm. "Unfortunately, the bridge is not open at this time. It was working just a minute ago, but would you have guessed it? The door is broken  _ again _ . You'll have to wait 'till it's up and running." 

It was a strange feeling for Oliver, being talked down to by a potential colleague like he was nothing more than just a speck of dust. He felt almost a little bitter about it. No one would have the nerve to speak like that to a constable, but then again, he had no claim to that title anymore. To the officer in front of him, he was nothing more than another insane wastrel. 

"Do you ever let anybody in?" Oliver asked, failing to mask his bitterness. 

The constable put his hands on his hips and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Oh, yes. There's someone in there right now, actually." 

"And in the past month?" 

"Well, in the past month..." The officer paused. "Well, there's a chap in there right now!" 

"You really don't want anyone back from the Garden District, do you?" 

"Well, my wastrel friend...no one who goes off their Joy can actually take Joy. I mean, would you?" The constable clasped his hands together and said condescendingly. 

Before Oliver could interject, the constable spoke up again. "Look, everybody feels better if that door stays broken. You, us, everybody." 

"Well," Oliver paused to look at the officer's name tag, "Constable  _ Wolfe _ , I suppose now I can tell Central why the bridge keeps breaking down." 

Wolfe's expression dropped. "Central?" 

"Ever seen one of these?" Oliver pulled out the contraption that Gaius gave him, struggling not to let a smug smirk cross his lips. 

"Oh bugger me. You're not some sort of--undercover bridge inspector?" 

"This device detects structural anomalies using electromagnetic radar," Oliver lied. "But I'm pretty sure that this device won't show me the  _ actual _ problem. Now will it, Constable Wolfe?" 

"Look, sir," Wolfe said, the condescending nature of his voice having disappeared entirely. "You can fix that door, but them wastrels still ain't gonna take their Joy. Apparently it makes them see eyes everywhere!" 

"Well, that's not for you to decide, is it?" 

"No, sir...the maintenance hatch is this way, sir," Then he added, "I'd be grateful if you forgot this conversation ever happened, okay?" 

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," Oliver shrugged and left Wolfe where he was standing. The slight triumphant swagger in his walk completely disappeared when he saw the elevator inside the maintenance hatch. 

"Fuck. If I really was from Central, I'd have the card, wouldn't I?" Annoyed at this point, Oliver walked past the elevator and found another door around the corner. He opened the door and found a sort of waiting room in front of him, with no one in it. Confused, he went up to the desk where a jaded woman who clearly looked unhappy with her life sat. Before he could even speak, she said, "Take a number and sit down." 

"But there's no one else here--" 

_ "Take a number and sit down."  _

"Fine," Oliver half-growled, took a number from the dispenser and sat down in one of the neon-orange chairs. After a few moments of waiting in silence, he started to get a little impatient. What was the point of this? 

"Number two," The woman called out unenthusiastically. "Now serving number two." 

Oliver got up and muttered a  _ "finally"  _ before going back up to the desk.

"Welcome to the Rehabilitation Center--" She started.

"Actually," Oliver interrupted. "I'm just an undercover bridge inspector from Central, see this device here? It detects structural--" 

"Then I'm sure you won't have any trouble passing the test," She said with a sort of growl to her voice. "Please head through the door on your right and begin your rehabilitation." 

With no other choice, Oliver sighed and went through the door to the elevator. A sort of unease followed him on his descent, reminding him of his time in the Headboy camp. When the doors opened, he expected someone to throw him into an arena again. But there was no such thing, only a pneumatic stash in center. He remembered using those as a way to confiscate items. 

_ "Please deposit all your personal belongings into this box, retaining only your clothes."  _ A feminine voice over a loudspeaker called, as if on cue. 

Shit.

Oliver slid off his satchel and took one last look at it before putting it in the box, watching all his hard work shoot up the tube connecting it to the other pneumatics. 

_ "Please continue to the decontamination room." _

Reluctantly, Oliver continued through the hallway until he got to the dressing room, or as it was labeled there, the "undressing room".

_ "Discard all your clothes and leave them in the recycling bin, don't worry, you will be provided with fresh, proper clothes after your decontamination." _

He couldn't help but feel increasingly creeped out by each direction given to him. Even so, he tugged his torn sweater over his head, slipped down his trousers and deposited them in the hamper. He couldn't help but chuckle a bit from a small memory he received from it.

"Now, if I were Lee, I'd just go promenading about, oblivious to the stares he'd be receiving from everyone. He never did quite grasp the importance of wearing clothes." 

While stepping into the decontamination room, he felt paranoia creep along his spine, like someone was watching him. He involuntarily closed his legs together at that thought, not entirely enjoying the idea of someone peeking on him while he showered. He had enough of that with Lee. Even so, he turned the knob and nearly squealed at how cold the water was. 

Awkwardly, he started to wash himself, feeling the bandage Gaius put him in cling to his calf like glue. When he felt that he was properly cleaned, he turned the knob and the water shut off. He brushed a strand of wet hair from his eyes. 

_ "Congratulations! You have been decontaminated. Please proceed to the next room and obtain some fresh, proper clothes!"  _

When he went into the next room, he took a towel off the rack and dried himself with it, annoyed at the fact of how long his hair took to dry. Seeing as he didn't really have a choice since they were all the exact same suit, he took a black suit with white trim off one of the hangers and slipped it on. He guessed it was a sort of one-size-fits-all thing, since the collar practically choked him. He loosened the collar a bit so he could actually breathe. 

_"Don't you look wonderful? Please proceed to the next room. In case there is any residual odor of the Garden District on you, please enjoy this refreshing scent of country flowers!" _

The door to the next roomed opened and he was immediately blasted with the artificial scent. To avoid having a coughing fit, Oliver covered his nose and mouth and soldiered on through the floral death pit. 

_"Get ready for the most important part of your rehabilitation! Please take your favorite flavor of Joy: vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry." _

An arrow of terror pierced through Oliver's heart when he saw not only that the next room was swarming with Bobbies, but that there was a Joy detector gate in front of the entrance to the next room. He barely took a single step before a constable stopped him. 

"I must insist you not traverse the beams of the Joy detector without taking your Joy first, sir." 

Oliver wanted to snark about how he knew everything there is to know about the wretched things, but he ultimately kept his mouth shut. With reluctance, he went up to one of the mood booths and pulled the door shut behind him. His hand shook while he deliberately turned the knob of the Joy pill that gave him the least amount of high, which was strawberry. He held his hand under the spout and the small, pink pill fell into his palm. For a moment he just stared at it, while in the back of his mind the sounds of a pill bottle rolling across the floor and the sounds of his sister's shrieking filled the air around him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he raised the pill to his lips and quickly swallowed it, stepping out of the mood booth. 

Even though this was the pill that gave him the least amount of high, the effect hit him like a ton of bricks. He forgot how...pink everything looked with Joy and couldn't help but chuckle a bit at it. There was a slight bounce in his step as he went through the detector, a part of him not wanting the warm tingly feeling in his blood to end. 

On the other side of the detector gate was a theater. He took a seat in one of the plush chairs, his leg shaking a little bit with the energy he received from the pill. 

_"Now sit tight and enjoy the show!" _

The screen faded in and revealed a man in his late 30s or early 40s, a cheerful grin on his face and his hands folded in front of him. Oh how could Oliver forget about Uncle Jack! He used to watch this man religiously before he got off Joy! 

"And now it's time for the Uncle Jack Etiquette Minute," Jack said. "You may be wondering, 'how can I fit in better in Hamlyn Village?' Well, it's easy, really. To get along, go along! If someone tells you it's a lovely day, agree with them--" He paused his sentence by chuckling. "But of course, it's always a lovely day in Hamlyn Village, so don't be afraid to have a nice chat. They'll appreciate it. Now, I'm assuming that you're nicely dressed, after all, clothes make the man. Indeed, naked people have little to no influence on society. And don't dress in rags either, or people might think you're a wastrel! And we don't want that, now do we?" Jack took a second to stare directly at the audience, which made Oliver uncomfortably shift in his seat a bit. He could already feel the Joy wearing off, and he wasn't sure if he liked that or not. 

"Now, what should you do if people are staring at you?" Jack continued. "Maybe they're asking you if you remembered to take your Joy? Who cares! Just pop another and they'll congratulate you and go about their day. Or if things are getting a bit hectic, I don't know, you could always watch Jack Worthing on the tele, I hear he's very good!" Once again, he interrupted himself with a chuckling fit. "Well, I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time. Tune in tomorrow for another Etiquette Minute with Jack Worthing." 

And with that, the screen took an iris out and Oliver was left feeling a small bit uncomfortable. 

_"Isn't Uncle Jack wonderful? Now please proceed to the third floor, where you will be tested on what you've just relearned!" _

The screen lifted up to reveal an elevator behind it, Oliver decided he had quite enough of elevators at the moment. Once again, he went in the elevator and rode up to the third floor, where he found himself in a replica of a street in Hamlyn Village. He couldn't help but chuckle a bit when he saw the fake, cardboard garbage cans. They even had a cardboard constable standing at the entrance to the exam. He guessed they were a bit short staffed. 

He opened the door and was greeted with a sort of game-show esque set. There was another subject for rehabilitation at one of the consoles already, so Oliver took the console to the left of the wastrel. As if on cue, a blindingly colorful machine rounded on its tracks and skated to the front of the set, its jaw unhinged as it spat out an eerie recording of a vaguely feminine voice. 

"Welcome, welcome! It's time to play 'Oh Behave', the game where you show that you are ready to come back to Hamlyn Village and behave like a proper, decent citizen." 

"You can't be serious," Oliver muttered under his breath, finding the mere concept of this as ridiculous. 

"Are you ready to behave? Now, our five guest questioners are going to ask you one question each. All you have to do is show us that you understand how to behave in Wellington Wells." 

A picture of a person in about their forties popped up on the screen in front of Oliver, who immediately recognized the person as one of the shopkeepers in Hamlyn. He remembered bartering a few times with him. 

"Mr. Castershire, what questions do you have for our potential son or daughter?" The feminine voice asked. 

"If you want to fit in you should," Mr. Castershire started, his usual friendly voice still about him, even though it was clearly a recording. "A. Say hello to everyone you meet, like I do! B. Visit people's houses, whether they're there or not. C. The eyes...The eyes!" 

Oliver rolled his eyes a bit at the question and pressed the "A" button on his console. He looked over at the wastrel next to him, who pressed C. Oliver almost told him to press A, but he forgot about the machine watching over him. 

"Yes! That's right, Player One! Never hurts to say 'hello' to people. Player two, I'm afraid 'the eyes, the eyes' was not the correct answer." The feminine voice said.

Another picture popped up on screen with a pretty plain looking woman with brown hair and one of those smiling masks. 

"Mrs. Browning, what would you like to know?" 

"If you realize you are wearing rags, should you: A. Pop a Joy! B. Put on some clothes, for God's sake. And then pop a Joy! C. Why does everything have eyes?" Mrs. Browning said. 

Oliver turned to the wastrel and pointed at the "B" button, though to no avail of course, as the wastrel picked C. Oliver shook his head and pressed B. 

"That's right, Player One! Just popping a Joy is not always enough. We do have standards! Player Two, I'm afraid everything does not actually have eyes." 

Then, a picture came up that made hate surge through Oliver's blood like bile. A certain colleague that threw Oliver to the wolves in the first place.

"Felix Wren! Sergeant Wren, what is your question?"

"Right," Wren started. Oliver could almost hear the shit-eating grin present in his voice. And he got a promotion? "Here's my interrogative. If I see you running, jumping about, or crouching in the shadows, what will I likely do? A. Tell you to stop your rotten shenanigans before I smash your face in. B. Run, jump, and play myself. C. Oh god, the eyes." 

Oliver pressed "A" with a little more force than necessary and snuck a glance at the wastrel, who of course, pressed C. Oliver didn't know whether he should face-palm or not. 

"Player One, that is exactly right! If you need to get somewhere, don't lurk about in the shadows like a rotten Downer, run like you're fleeing the scene, or jump about. No need to be in a hurry in Hamlyn! Player Two, do try to pay attention. We want you to succeed! Mrs. Sackville, your question please." 

This time an elderly woman came up, wearing a bonnet with a flower in her light grey hair. 

"If you want to make friends with me, should you: A. Give me flowers? B. Talk about old times? C. Stop staring at me, why is everything staring at me?" 

Oliver didn't even steal a glance at the wastrel when he picked his answer. 

"Excellent! Yes, do give the ladies a lovely bouquet, they do so love flowers. Oh, dear. It looks like the 'eyes have you both', as they say. How disappointing." 

Then, something came up that made Oliver freeze in place, as if time stopped. A man with jade green eyes, a pair of spectacles, a fedora, and a sharp toothed grin stretching his face. Doctor Sawyer. Oliver recalled the famous Doctor being called on him before he was chased out. The Angel of Death's face was there, right in front of him, and Oliver could barely move. 

"Remember, Doctors are here to help you. If you are off your Joy, they will give you a quick injection, and make your day a lovely one. Doctor Sawyer, head of our lovely Downer Care Facility, what is your question?" 

"What happens when you take too much Joy?" The Doctor asked, his voice raspy and sinister. "A. You can't find your own house. B. Who cares? C. Please God make them stop staring." 

His head foggy, Oliver picked A, but his head was far from the game. He couldn't get that voice out of his head, the weight of his fear slithered up his spine. 

"I'm afraid that was a bit of a trick question. It's true, you can't find your house when you take too much Joy, but we just want to see the broader truth, which is, who cares? Oh, Player Two, today is just not your day, is it? But you can always come back for a seventh try! And that concludes this episode of 'Oh Behave'. I hope you made it to the Village, and if you didn't, remember we're always willing to give you another shot if you're willing to behave like a decent citizen." 

And with that, the machine scooted back on its tracks and back under the curtains. But not for long, as it came back a few seconds later, a spotlight shining on it once again. 

"Welcome, welcome! It's time to play 'Oh Behave', the game where you show that you are ready to come back to Hamlyn Village and behave like a proper, decent citizen."

"What the hell? I passed the test," Oliver said. "Oh for fuck's sake, I'm not doing this again. How do I get out of here?" 

Oliver got up from the console and followed the machine's tracks back to a backstage area, but with no exit. However, there was a vent. He grabbed the sides of it and pried it open, crawling inside the tight opening to the other end, which appeared like a storage area. An unused one, at that. After a bit of walking through the dusty backstage, he came across a bedroom that was attached to the end of the corridor with an elevator to the side of it. He supposed that elevator was to the exit of the rehabilitation center, but he stopped himself before he pressed the button. 

"The curfew, dammit, the curfew!" Oliver cursed himself. It must be nearly night, he'd be insane to try parading about Hamlyn during the curfew. He sighed, supposing he'd have to spend the night in the rehabilitation center until morning. However, all of his complaints stopped immediately when he opened the door and saw an actual bed right in front of him. Exhaustion suddenly crushed him as his eyes drooped closed. He could barely even take his suit off before he collapsed onto the mattress, the sweet embrace of sleep finally taking him over. 


	13. Then There Was Wolfgang

_Oliver sat stretched out on the sofa, writing a thesis for his English class when he heard the door creak open. He raised his head and looked over to see Charlotte standing in the front door, long blonde hair dripping wet and boots staining the carpet with water._

_"Charlie, you're soaked!" He said, more annoyed than angry. _

_Charlotte just rolled her eyes and laughed it off. "I'm fine, don't get your panties in a twist." _

_"No you're not, your lips are blue and you're shivering. Where's your coat?" _

_"Uhh...in the closet?" _

_"Then why didn't you put it on?" It's been raining all day! _

_"I dunno, and besides, it wasn't raining, it was_ drizzling,"

_Now it was Oliver's turn to roll his eyes. "Now you're going to get sick, and I'm going to get sick, and then Mom's going to get sick," He groaned. _

* * *

Oliver woke up with a massive headache, probably from the Joy he took last night. He groaned and rolled over, stretching a bit as he sat on the edge of the bed. His head pounded and all he wanted to do was just crawl back under the covers and sleep until the end of time, but he couldn't do that with so much resting on his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he got up and started to search the place he stayed in for anything useful, since he passed out before he could yesterday. The only things he found were a couple of bobby pins and a cricket bat. It wasn't as good as his old lead pipe, but it would do. He slipped the bat into his belt and went out the door, the elevator next to it. 

He got in and pressed the button to go up to the first floor, a lump residing in his throat from the thought of being back in Wellington Wells. When the elevator opened its doors, he was greeted with a row of crab apple trees that stretched into the entrance to Hamlyn Village. The sight of the Village alone was a blast from the past. He slipped his hands in his pocket and concentrated on where to go from here. 

"So from here," He muttered, thinking out loud. "I've got to get to St. George's Holm, and then to the Parade. Except I need a letter of transit to get to the Parade. Like the one I left in my desk at home in St. George's Holm. I'll bet by now that house is already sold and all my belongings pawned off anyways. How'll I get a new one?" Then, he got an idea. "Wait a second. The old printing house was here in Maidenholm. Maybe I can break in and steal some blanks?"

He started off into the town, his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the rainbow-lined sidewalks, waving and smiling at others, as was expected of him. Oliver was practically a natural at it after his few weeks of hiding. He never really came to the Village that often, since he usually was more needed in St. George as a constable, but even so it wasn't too hard to navigate around. Though, while walking, he couldn't help but sneak glances at everyone else. People were smiling and laughing with others and playing hopscotch on the street, while he was silently battling. Ever since that taste of Joy from yesterday, Oliver had the urge to just hop into a mood booth overdose until he couldn't walk straight. But he didn't, he kept soldiering on. He couldn't do it, he wouldn't do it. His headache only beat that in further, like a tattoo in his mind.

Then he saw it, next to a poster for the next Simon Says competition. A flier with his face on it. An alert, put out specifically by the Downer Care Facility and Constabulary. It read: "Any constables or citizens who spot this man, are required to bring him directly to the DCF, as soon as possible."

Doctor Sawyer was looking for him. Oliver felt his joints lock up, as if everything just suddenly stopped. They hadn't forgotten about him. He started hyperventilating, backing away slowly from the flier and speed-walking down the sidewalks, feeling like he was about to vomit at any point in time. This changed everything.

Eventually he made it to the Printing Office without being seen, however it was completely boarded up from the front. He started to panic a bit and tried to search around the old, molded office for another way in.

Oliver sighed in relief when he found a back entrance to the Printing Office. It wasn't completely blocked off after all. Oliver made his way towards the door to the alleyway, but hesitated when his hand touched the handle. He looked around once or twice to see if anyone was coming down the streets, particularly constables. When he saw it was completely clear, he opened the door and ducked into the alleyway. He silently shut the door behind him and strolled down the alley, still not entirely pleased with how things were going. He got to the back entrance into the Printing Office and pulled down on the handle to it. The door was jammed. Oliver snorted in annoyance, he should have known it wouldn't have been that easy. "God dammit..." he cursed to himself.

He was about to start down the way he came, but suddenly stopped when he thought he heard voices from around the corner. Oliver let his curiosity get the better of him and peered around the corner, positioning himself behind a crate. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw two other people around the corner. Though he was about to flee the alley, he noticed the person on the right seemed a bit familiar to him. Tall, broad shoulders, pitch black hair, a brown sweater vest--

_"No, it can't be,_" Oliver thought as he gripped the edges of the crate, listening more intently to the conversation. 

"This isn't enough," The familiar stranger said, his voice a nostalgic deepness. 

"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't find enough sovereign--" The other man started, before being cut off.

"Next week, then," The stranger rested his hand on the other man's shoulder. "The batch will still be waiting for you next week, I promise." 

"Th-Thank you, sir. I'll try to find enough, but the money's short around here," The other man said before scarpering off down the alleyway. The stranger turned around, only to get a face-full of Oliver eavesdropping on him. The stranger's sharp amber eyes met his own, something about them making his heart race. 

"Oliver? Oliver Bondarev?" The stranger asked. 

Oliver's mind was sent into a frenzy as he tried to turn around and flee from the scene. "Oh--uh, lovely day for it!" 

However, before Oliver could run off, the stranger rested his hand on Oliver's shoulder, gently holding him in place. "Oliver, do you not recognize me? It's me, Wolfgang." 

He stood stock still, everything starting to come back. Oliver couldn't help but let his jaw go slack. Everything that happened to him up until this point faded away, just leaving this unexpected moment. 

"It's been quite awhile, hasn't it? However, I still knew it was you, just by one simple glance. I guess time doesn't wear away a thing like that." Wolfgang said, a polite smile in his expression.

"Wolfgang? You look...really great," Oliver said after what felt like years, barely able to even comprehend what was happening right before his eyes. 

"Why, thank you," Wolfgang replied. "I suppose I haven't worn this vest for awhile." 

Then it hit Oliver. Everything just crashed back on him all at once with incredible force. "Tan with dark brown trim. Your sweater. The last time I saw you...running out the door," He couldn't stop the words from tumbling from his lips. 

Wolfgang stayed silent, something indescribable crossing his features. Regret? Worry? Oliver didn't know. Wolfgang was always good at mystifying everyone. Then he looked back at Oliver, who was just one step away from letting the floodgates open. 

"You're off your Joy,"

Oliver took a step back, putting his arms out defensively, the flier coming back to him. "Don't be ridiculous." 

"Oliver, I'm not going to turn you in," Wolfgang said. "Whatever made you go off your Joy?" 

"Lee," He said, leaving it there, purposely leaving Charlotte out of the equation.

Wolfgang pursed his lips, averting his eyes from Oliver. 

"Me and Charlotte promised we'd look after him while in Germany. I have to find him." 

"How will you get out? Do you have a letter of transit?" Wolfgang said, immediately burying his expression. 

"Absolutely. On my desk. In St. George. Haven't quite figured that bit out yet." 

"I'm...very close with Chief Grimshaw," Wolfgang said, clasping his hands together. 

Suddenly, Oliver was filled with bitterness. The same bitterness he'd felt all these years. It surged through him like venom, and suddenly he just couldn't stop himself anymore. 

"Of course you are. You always did have a knack for making helpful new accomplices." Oliver spat. 

"No--" Wolfgang paused, averting his eyes once more. "I could ask her to meet with me, and ask her to give you a letter of transit. She's...she's not how you think, she protects my business from Sawyer and Verloc, I can still be the apothecary because of her. If I can convince her, she can help you too--" 

"So you were the bastard Sunshine cook? No wonder we were on a wild goose chase to find you then, because _she_ was protecting you! I didn't even know her and I worked in that police force for _years_, Wolfgang. Even if she's a fucking downer bobby like me, don't put the Chief out on my account. I'm sure you only have so many favors you can ask of her." 

Wolfgang unclasped his hands and laid them at his sides. "You still hate me, do you not?" 

"Yeah, well I've only been wondering for the past fourteen years--" 

"Oliver, I--" 

"How could you!" 

Wolfgang turned away, failing to hide his stricken face. His voice nearly a whisper, he said, "Out of all the Downers I've seen in these past few years, you are the last person who should be off his Joy." 

"I can't believe you are," Oliver retorted. 

"Oliver, believe me, I take enough...things. Look, last week, one of my Downer clients broke into my house, bashed through my front door, nearly found my lab upstairs. The point is, this is a dangerous world, Oliver. I just can't let you force your way into the city without a great deal of help. You could even stay with me--"

"Oh no," Oliver interrupted. "Not me." 

"I'm living on the King's Road right now, a little bit away from where my pharmacy is." 

"Of course you are."

Oliver turned away, about ready to ignite from the rage filling him. He clenched his fists hard enough that his nails dug into his palms. 

"Logically, I couldn't have stayed there. Like nothing happened," Wolfgang said softly. 

Eventually, Oliver started to calm down. His shoulders slumped and his posture sagged. The flame that consumed him earlier had started to douse itself. 

"Look, I'm sorry, Wolfgang. This isn't what I meant...maybe we could try to help each other. Maybe I could come by when I'm feeling--" He turned around to face Wolfgang again, but found that the place where he once stood was now empty. Almost like he vaporized. Oliver immediately felt hatred for himself swell like a balloon in his chest. 

"You fucking ass!" He cursed himself. "How about going to the King's Road, knocking on his door and apologizing vigorously while asking for a letter of transit? You idiot! He knows Chief-fucking-Grimshaw!" 

However, he didn't even get time to properly beat himself up as a group of nasty-looking gangbangers burst through the door, all three wearing pretentious leather jackets. 

"Dammit lads, he scarpered!" One of them yelled. 

"Oh? But what do we have here?" Another started. "A friend of Mr. Moors, innit? Funny, you don't look like a broad." 

Then the last piped up, snickering. "Unless Sunshine's a fairy!" 

"Well perhaps we can express our feelings about Mr. Moors to his little boyfriend, then," 

Without warning, they ripped out their weapons and lunged at Oliver. Realizing that his flimsy cricket bat would do anything against a lead pipe, he ducked the first one's attack and hauled towards the alleyway exit. He ripped open the door and slammed it in the gangbanger's faces, locking the door right after. 

"I guess if I want to get that letter of transit, I'll have to go on over to St. George. It's always a little extra complicated with Wolfgang, isn't it?" 

And with that, Oliver went to cross Plassey bridge into St. George's Holm. 


End file.
